


Dancing with my punchlines

by LiveOakWithMoss



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Humor, Aromantic Character, Asexual Character, Characters of color, Conflict Resolution, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Great Walloping Drama Monsters, House Party, Humor, I will warn at the beginning of each chapter for sexually explicit/potentially triggering material, Jewish Characters, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Rugby, Sexual Content, nerds, self destructive behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-12 10:29:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 80
Words: 319,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2106315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the sons of Fëanor throw house parties, the beer is terrible, 20-something hipster elves act like their drama is as bad as it is in canon, and macking on cousins is fair game.</p><p>75% banter, 20% soap opera, 5% fratty humor; 100% dramamonsters.</p><p>I regret nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jump on my shoulders

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Dancing with my punchlines](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5342933) by [rio_abajo_rio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rio_abajo_rio/pseuds/rio_abajo_rio), [venwe (holy_milk)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/holy_milk/pseuds/venwe)



> For backstory, side-story, and all other frivolities in this 'verse, check out [Punching out my Dancelines](http://archiveofourown.org/series/148653), where I collect such things.
> 
> For all DWMP things that live on my Tumblr, check out my [FAQs](http://imindhowwelayinjune.tumblr.com/post/124746376804/dwmp-faqs) and [masterpost](http://imindhowwelayinjune.tumblr.com/dwmp-master-post).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just getting down at a basement house party. With your...brother's...girlfriend. (Whoops).

“Hey.” Fingon caught Aredhel’s shoulder as she pushed through the crowded basement and tugged her to the side. 

She quirked an eyebrow at him. “What?” 

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked quietly. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Don’t act dumb. You’ve been with Elenwë all night.”

“It’s a party. We’re dancing.” 

“You’re doing a hell of a lot more than dancing.” 

She stared at him, defiant. She was tall enough to meet his gaze head on. “So?” 

“So?” Fingon ran his hand over his hair. “Christ, Ireth. She’s your brother’s girlfriend.”

“Talk to her about it, then,” said Aredhel, crossing her arms. “If she wants me, I’m not going to say no.” 

Fingon grimaced. “C’mon, you know better than that. Just because it’s her choice to screw around on her boyfriend doesn’t make it okay for _you_ to screw around with your brother’s girlfriend. There are rules about this.” 

Aredhel tightened her jaw, and her eyes flashed. “I don’t care.” 

“Yes, you do.” He touched her lightly on the arm. “I don’t believe you care so little about Turno’s feelings. He loves her.” 

“What if she doesn’t want him anymore?” Aredhel demanded. She wrapped her arms around herself defensively. He could practically see her bristling.

“Then she needs to have that conversation with him first,” said Fingon, firmly. “And you need to back off until they’ve got it worked out. Because making out with Elenwë with Turno in the other room – it’s not okay, Ireth.” 

When she just glared at him, he tugged lightly at her hand. “You know it’s not.” 

At last she slumped, folding heavily against his side. “ _Shit_ , Finno.” 

“Yeah.”

“It’s not fair. The first time I’m really crazy about a girl, and she actually wants me _back_ – and she’s with – ” 

“Yeah,” said Fingon. “It’s a bitch. I’m not gonna argue with that.” 

Aredhel let out a great breath and pulled herself upright. “Okay. I gotta get out of here, then, or I’m gonna do something stupid. I – if she asks where I am – ”

“I’ll tell her you’re having an early night,” said Fingon. “No worries.” 

“Augh,” said Aredhel, and turned up the basement stairs. “Fuck this shit.” 

Fingon watched her go, face tight with concern, until he felt a light touch at the small of his back. He turned, and his face relaxed as he saw Maedhros. 

“Is everything okay?” 

“I think so.” Fingon sighed and leaned into Maedhros, who wrapped an easy arm around his waist. “I think I averted the worst of the train wreck, but Jesus, poor Irissë.”

“Poor Turukáno,” said Maedhros, mildly. “He saw, surely.” 

“I hope not too much,” said Fingon. “They were getting kind of graphic on the dance floor.” He let out a groan. “ _Augh_. Why am I suddenly being the responsible one? I’m uncomfortable with this role. Help.” 

“You’re doing great,” said Maedhros, smiling, and pulled him into a kiss. “Need some distraction?” 

Fingon raised his face, grinning, and asked, “You got a particular closet in mind?”

“Actually, I need you elsewhere.” 

“What, laundry room? We’ve never done it on a dryer before…” 

“Nope. Findaráto has challenged me in beer pong. I need you on my team.” 

Fingon whined as Maedhros tugged him away. “Not fair, pitting alcohol against sex. You _know_ those are two of my favorite things…” 

“If we win, I’ll take you up on the dryer idea,” said Maedhros, and grinned as Fingon sprang ahead.

“Watch out, Ingoldo, you’re about to see how this is _done_ …”

 

- 

 

Outside, Aredhel leaned exhaustedly against a lamppost and took a long drag on her cigarette. 

“Fuck,” she whispered, and blew out a long stream of smoke. 

“You got more of those?” 

She looked up and Celegorm was grinning at her, handsome and wicked in the light of the streetlamp. 

“No,” she said shortly.

He shrugged and put his hands in his pockets, leaning up against the post beside her. “Share?” 

Aredhel rolled her eyes and handed the cigarette over. He took a drag and passed it back, turning his head to blow smoke at a passing raccoon. “Early night, huh?”

“I’m not in the mood, Tyelko.” 

“I’m just making conversation.” 

“I’m serious. Stop flirting.” 

He caught her eye, then, and seeing the utter lack of humor in her expression, nodded, and his body language changed subtly. He still leaned up next to her, their shoulders brushing, but that certain charge was gone. She gave a little sigh of relief and tilted her head against his shoulder. 

“Ugh, why is this happening to me?” 

“I’m sorry about your girl.” 

“She’s not mine.” Aredhel dropped her cigarette and ground it out with an angry toe. “That being the problem, see.”

“Yeah.” He leaned back, looking up at the bugs circling the circle of light cast by the streetlight. “Want to go somewhere?” 

“I’m not going back to your place, I said – ” 

“I meant somewhere we could drink. Like, seriously drink.” He nudged her. “Something other than piss beer and cheap ass vodka.” 

“Oh, god, _yes_ ,” said Aredhel. “That’s exactly what I need. And you’re buying. I picked up your whole fucking tab last week.” 

“Done.” Celegorm pushed himself easily off the lamppost and pulled her up with him. “Let’s go, kid.” 

She sighed and tucked herself under his arm as they walked off down the street. “You’re gonna have to listen to me whine, just so you know.” 

“Fair’s fair. You had to put up with my shit last year.” 

“Yeah, you fucking jackass, I had to listen to you moan about Lúthien for a goddamned month…” 

“Hey, I got over it. Lúthien who?”

“It just took several bottles of whiskey and some drunken groping,” muttered Aredhel. 

“Isn’t that how everyone deals with a broken heart?” 

“Hah.” 

They rounded the corner and vanished from sight. 

In the light of the lamppost, the moths still fluttered. One last glowing ember from Aredhel’s cigarette glowed briefly, then flickered and died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. I was thinking about Finwions playing beer pong, as you do, and then I was thinking about house parties and dirty dancing in the basement, and then I realized the ones dancing dirty were Elenwë and Aredhel, and then it became a college booze drama.


	2. Hello to the aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

Fingon opened his eyes, and instantly regretted it. 

“ _Grah.”_ He moaned, and buried his head in the pillows. “I’m going to kill you, Maitimo.” 

“Hm?” Maedhros stirred against his back. “How is this my fault?” 

“You didn’t warn me Findaráto was playing with Amarië. The girl plays college basketball. She _destroyed_ us.” 

“Not my fault,” murmured Maedhros, tucking his face against Fingon’s neck. “I thought you were the beer pong champion.” 

“I _was_. No longer, clearly. Oh god, my head.” 

“Stop talking then,” said Maedhros, and Fingon pushed an elbow into his ribs. “ _Ow._ ” 

“You’re not being very sympathetic.” 

“You’re not being very quiet. This morning or last night.” 

“Hah.” Fingon rolled over and grinned at him. “ _Definitely_ not my fault. All you. That trick with the dryer was inspired.”

“I was hoping you’d at least exercise a little restraint.” 

“I can never restrain myself when you’re inside me, Maitimo,” said Fingon and laughed as Maedhros growled and pulled him into a deep kiss. 

“We woke the whole house.” 

“Probably.” Fingon pulled him in for a couple more clinging kisses before breaking away with another groan. “I feel like _shit_. It’s that fucking Keystone Light. It is cheap, piss-colored poison, I _told_ you we should have gotten a different keg.” 

“Take it up with Moryo. I wasn’t on shopping detail.” Maedhros swung his legs out of bed and leaned his elbows onto his knees, raking his hands through his hair once before shaking himself and standing. “I’ll make us some coffee.” 

“Bless you,” murmured Fingon, rolling into the warm spot he’d left. “I knew there was a reason I loved you.”

“Other than the trick with the dryer, you mean?” Maedhros made his way to the door. “I’ll be back.” 

Fingon waved a lazy hand after him and closed his eyes.

 

He dozed off lightly, and was woken by someone sliding into bed beside him and wrapping an arm around his waist. A kiss was pressed to his neck, and a low voice murmured, “Morning, beautiful.” 

“Morn – wait.” Fingon’s eyes snapped open. He rolled over and swore violently. “Jesus fucking Christ, Tyelko.” 

Celegorm was laughing at him, eyes dancing wickedly. He propped his head on one hand and smirked. “That’s the greeting I get?” 

“Get _out_ , you twisted freak.” 

Celegorm looked wounded. “Why are you so cranky in the morning, baby?” He reached out to touch Fingon’s cheek, and Fingon kicked viciously at him until he yelped and pulled away.

“Don’t you have your own bed?” 

“I was unceremoniously tossed from it,” said Celegorm, rolling onto his back and folding his hands behind his head. “It is a cruel world, Finno.” 

“Who kicked you out?” asked Fingon, and then sighed. “It was my sister, wasn’t it.” 

“Right in one. Brutally attacked by two Nolofinwions in one morning, it is _not_ my day.” 

There was a cough from the doorway. Maedhros was standing there, holding two cups of coffee, a dangerous expression on his face. “You have two seconds to explain what the hell you’re doing in my bed, Tyelkormo.” 

“Easy,” said Celegorm. “Mine’s occupied.” He rolled over and hooked his chin over Fingon’s shoulder. “And your boyfriend looked so warm and inviting.” 

“Tyelko,” said Maedhros quietly, as Fingon elbowed Celegorm hard. “I _will_ kill you.” 

Celegorm looked up at his brother’s face, saw no amusement there, and leapt from the bed. “Message received.” He made a precipitant exit as Maedhros glowered at him. 

“Good riddance,” said Fingon, and threw a pillow after him.

 

-

 

The cleanup that morning – or afternoon, by the time most of the household rolled out of bed – was no small task, but at least they had a lot of hands to help. 

Amarië was whistling as she swept the kitchen, she and Finrod having spent the night on the couch. 

“Hello, friend,” she said cheerfully as Fingon slouched into the kitchen, dragging a trash bag. “Looking perky!” 

“Ha ha,” said Fingon, and swept a countertop of cans into the bag. “You know Findaráto’s only dating you for your fine motor skills, right?” 

“Don’t I know it,” said Amarië, and winked. 

“We need music!” yelled Celegorm from the basement, where he was wielding a mop and a bucket of soapy water. 

“On it,” said Maglor, making his way to the stereo. 

“Where’d your girl go?” asked Caranthir, dumping another bag of cans into Fingon’s arms. 

“She had to get up early for crew,” said Maglor, fiddling with the bass levels. “There’s a dragon boat competition coming up.” 

“That is so badass,” said Amarië. “We should go watch.”

“I’m in,” said Finrod, wandering in with several more bulging trash bags. “Who puked in the bathroom? I’m not cleaning it up.” 

“Hey,” said Fingon quietly, as Caranthir and Maglor argued over whose friend had gotten sick last night and therefore whose responsibility the cleaning was, “did you see Turno again last night?” 

“Briefly,” said Finrod, and looked speculative. “He didn’t look very happy.” 

“Was Elenwë with him?” 

“They left together,” said Finrod. “But neither looked particularly pleased.”

“Christ,” said Fingon. “What a mess.” 

“Where’s Irissë?” asked Finrod. 

“Upstairs, as far as I know,” said Fingon. “Tyelko, is Irissë still in your room?” 

“Yes,” called Celegorm. “Locked in, for fuck’s sake. I can’t even get in to get my clothes.” 

“I was wondering why you were mopping in your underwear,” said Finrod, wrinkling his nose. 

Celegorm struck a pose at the bottom of the stairs. “You know you like it, Ingoldo.” 

“Ack,” said Finrod, and turned away. 

Maglor, who’d lost the argument over who was cleaning the bathroom, appeared, looking repulsed. “I need to do some laundry. Like, immediately.” 

He vanished into the laundry room, as Caranthir laughed. Almost immediately there came a cry. “Who the _fuck_ broke the dryer?” 

“Whoops,” said Fingon, and beat a hasty retreat.


	3. Soul of a new hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aredhel stands under Elenwë’s window holding a boombox over her head. (Or: in which I really just want this to be a romantic comedy.)

Curufin raised his eyebrows when he entered the kitchen and saw Celegorm sitting at the table, reading the newspaper in his boxers.

“It’s 4pm,” Curufin observed, taking a seat across from his brother. “You still haven’t managed to clothe yourself? I get that the party last night ran late, but…” 

“Can’t access my clothes,” said Celegorm unconcernedly, flipping to the comics. “A woman scorned is camped out in my room.” 

“Did _you_ scorn her?” Curufin asked shrewdly. It wouldn’t be the first time Celegorm had offended his visitor from the night before and had her go apeshit on his belongings. 

“Not even!” Celegorm lowered the paper and managed to look hurt. “I was a perfect gentleman. It was someone _else_ who broke her heart. I just gave her a place to sleep.”

“Big of you,” said Curufin, and stole the cup of coffee from beside Celegorm's elbow. He took a sip and made a face. “This is cold.” 

“Yeah, you thieving bastard, that’s what you get. Also, I’m pretty sure that was Nelyo’s. From like, six hours ago.” 

“I can’t believe you’re locked out of your own room,” said Curufin. “How pathetic can you get?”

“Yeah, well you take on Irissë when she’s in a mood.”

“It’s Irissë?” Curufin’s mien changed entirely. “Oh. Well, then. It’s best that you stay down here.” 

Celegorm folded the paper and tossed it across the table. “I do need my phone and shit, though.” He sighed and scrubbed his hand through his wild blond hair, making it stand up like a mane around his head. “Okay, I’m going to try my luck. You coming?” 

“Why on earth would I come with you?” said Curufin. “I don’t have a death wish.” 

“I need backup. C’mon.” He stood and cuffed his brother lightly around the ear. “You know you can’t say no to me, Curvo.” He smiled winningly and Curufin let out a sigh. 

“ _Fine_.” 

They trooped upstairs and Curufin stood well back as Celegorm knocked lightly on the door. “Hey. Irissë? You awake? Look, I just need to grab a couple things. I swear I won’t bother you. Unless you want to be bothered.” He waited. Silence. “Sorry, I know you hate when I try innuendo. I’m serious, though. I’ll just be in and out in a few seconds.” 

“I thought you said you weren’t going to use anymore innuendo?” Curufin murmured, and Celegorm swatted at him without turning around.

“Ireth? C’mon, let me in.” He rattled at the doorknob. Still no answer. “Shit. Seriously?”

Curufin sighed and pushed himself up from the wall where he’d been watching with his arms folded. “Embarrassing. Hold on.” 

“Where are you going?” Celegorm called as Curufin set off across the hall to his own room. 

“Getting my lock picks, you worthless incompetent.”

Celegorm grinned. “Have I told you you’re my favorite brother?” 

“Not nearly enough,” said Curufin, returning with several delicate tools wrapped in black velvet. “Move.”

Within minutes, the door gave a click and swung open. Curufin backed up hurriedly, and Celegorm poked his head around the frame. “Irissë? Don’t get mad, I just...” He trailed off, looking around. The room was clearly empty, and the window was open. “Son of a bitch.”

Curufin shook his head as he packed up his lock picks. “God, you are such an easy mark.” 

“Fuck’s _sake_. Yo, Findekáno!” Celegorm bellowed down the hall. 

After a moment, the door to Maedhros’ room opened a crack. Fingon looked out, shirtless and with tousled hair, looking put upon. “What?” 

“Your sister’s gone.” 

“What?” 

“Evaporated, bro.” 

“Are you – Ah, shit.” Fingon slipped into the hall, hastily doing up his jeans. “When did she leave?” 

“Not a fucking clue.” Celegorm scowled at the empty room. “I swear, if I was locked out of my room all day, and she hasn’t even been here since the morning, I will – ”

“Oh, whatever, you spend most of your time half-naked anyway,” said Fingon dismissively, pushing past him. “Did she leave her phone?” 

“Doesn’t look like she left anything,” said Celegorm, grabbing a pair of jeans from the back of the chair and pulling them on. “Shit, I should make sure she didn’t steal anything. She’d think that would be funny…” 

Fingon wasn’t paying attention. He’d pulled out his own phone and was dialing Aredhel’s number. He listened a moment and cursed. “It’s shut off. Damnit, Ireth, what are you up to?”

 

-

 

Aredhel gazed up at the window to Elenwë’s apartment, hefting a pebble in one palm.

“I am such a damned stereotype,” she muttered to herself, and tossed the pebble lightly at the window. No answer. She tossed another one. “Well, if the stereotype is ‘boy meets girl, boy and girl start dating, boy’s queer sister falls for girl, girl frenches queer sister on the dance floor…’ ” 

She stared upward. “Ah, c’mon, Elenwë.” She tossed one last desperate handful of gravel, and the window opened. 

A golden head poked out, and Elenwë looked out, confused, before catching sight of her. “Irisse?” 

“Hey.” 

Elenwë’s lips parted as she gazed down at Aredhel. “What are you doing?” 

“Being a stereotype,” said Aredhel, shoving her hands into her pockets. “Look, I need to talk to you. Can I come up? I’ll say my bit and get out, I promise.” 

Elenwë was still gazing down at her, something unreadable in her brown eyes, and Aredhel shifted from foot to foot. “Please, Elenwë?” 

“Of course,” said Elenwë quietly. “Hang on, let me buzz you in.” 

The door was ajar when Aredhel reached the top of the stairs. She pushed it open and stepped into Elenwë’s small studio apartment. Elenwë was perched at the table, her feet drawn up beneath her, wearing shorts and an overlarge tee-shirt. Her golden curls, unbrushed and disheveled, were in a messy braid over her shoulder, and her expression, when she raised her head, was apprehensive. 

“Hey,” said Aredhel, and pushed the door closed behind her.

“Hey.” Elenwë’s voice was very soft. 

Aredhel swallowed, unable to take her eyes from the girl in front of her. Her plan suddenly felt much harder to execute with Elenwë before her, looking so beautiful. 

“Um. I just want to say something.” 

“Okay.” Elenwë looked up at her and wrapped her arms around her shins.

“Um.” Aredhel stayed standing. Fuck, she’d had everything planned out, and every single word had gone straight out of her head. 

Elenwë put her head to the side, looking a little concerned. “Ireth, I…”

“No, okay, I can do this.” Aredhel raised a hand and took a deep breath. “El. I know you’re with my brother. I know you’re off limits in so many ways. And I’m going to respect that, even though I really, really don’t want to. But last night made me think that maybe you feel…some of what I feel, and that I’m not crazy for having been crushed out on you for months now.” 

Elenwë opened her mouth to speak, but Aredhel plunged on. 

“No, I need to just get this out. I’m crazy about you, Elenwë. I think about you all the time, I daydream about being with you, I haven’t been this far gone since I was thirteen and had my first big crush. And last night – ” she let out a shuddery breath, “even if it was just you being tipsy and silly, it felt…it felt real to me. And having you touching me, feeling you against me, thinking maybe, maybe you felt the same way…it was the happiest I’ve been in…ever, maybe. But I can’t keep it up. I can’t fool around with you if you’re just on some straight girl fantasy binge where you make out with a girl to see what it’s like. I definitely can’t fool around with you if you’re with my brother. But if you…if you do feel at all the same, and when you do get things worked out with Turno, if anything changes…” Aredhel squeezed her eyes shut. “I’d be there in heartbeat. I’m yours, Elenwë. Just tell me when.” 

There was a long silence and Aredhel opened her eyes, embarrassed to feel a tear slide down her cheek. “So…that’s what I needed to say,” she finished quietly. “And if I wait here a moment longer, I’m gonna do something stupid, so…” She turned hastily and reached for the doorknob, fumbling as her vision blurred with tears. 

But, “Wait!” 

Elenwë had unfolded herself from the chair and was hurrying across the kitchen floor on her bare feet. She reached out and caught Aredhel’s arm, and Aredhel felt goosebumps erupt at the touch. 

“Irissë...” 

“Please don’t,” whispered Aredhel. “Please don’t be sweet. Please don’t say something comforting. Please don’t…” 

“ _Listen_ to me, Ireth,” and Elenwë was smiling, though her eyes were bright too. “I broke up with Turukáno last night.”

“You – What?” 

“We broke up.” Elenwë’s hand was still wrapped around Aredhel’s wrist, and Aredhel looked down at it, uncomprehending. “I told him…I told him I wasn’t being fair to him. That I fell for you the first day we met and I’ve been pining for you ever since. And last night I had a bit to drink and acted like an idiot and was horrible to both of you, but I have to…I have to cut it out, and be honest. I shouldn’t be with him, because all I want is to be with you.”

Aredhel raised her eyes then, meeting Elenwë’s earnest brown gaze, and she did cry then, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Are you serious?” 

“Yes.” Elenwë wrapped her arms tentatively around Aredhel’s waist. “I’m serious.” 

Aredhel buried her face in Elenwë’s neck, smelling the sweet scent of her shampoo and her lotion, and something else that was pure Elenwë. “Oh.” 

She clung to her a while in silence, overwhelmed and suddenly, a little unsure, and Elenwë clung right back, her thumbs rubbing light circles on Aredhel’s spine. 

“I should talk to Turukano,” Aredhel said at last, raising her head. “Findekáno was right; he _is_ my brother, and I should make sure this is okay before I…But honestly, Elenwë, even if he says no, I can’t imagine being able to stay away from you.” 

“We can take it slow,” said Elenwë, and she kissed Aredhel’s cheek lightly. “You should talk to him. Clear the air.” 

“Yes,” said Aredhel, and she meant to pull away, she really did, but instead she found herself cupping Elenwë’s face between her hands and kissing her long and slow and deep. 

Elenwë gave a murmur and raised herself up on her toes, pulling Aredhel close, and Aredhel swayed as she felt Elenwë’s breasts press against her – she wore nothing but her skin beneath that tee-shirt. Aredhel felt the desire build in her as she wound her arms around Elenwë’s waist, hands sliding to the curve of her ass, and Elenwë gave a little whimper of need as Aredhel’s hands skimmed her buttocks and pulled her in so that their hips aligned, Aredhel’s thigh sliding between Elenwë’s legs. 

“Oh fuck,” said Aredhel, and laughed, pulling away to rest her forehead against Elenwë’s. “I’m not going to be able to resist you, am I?” 

“I wish I could tell you to try,” whispered Elenwë, pulling her down into another kiss. “But honestly? I don’t give a shit.” 

“To the couch then?” murmured Aredhel against her lips. “The bed? The floor?” 

“Anywhere,” said Elenwë, and ground hard against her. “ _Please_ , Irissë.” 

Just then, Elenwë’s cell phone buzzed on the countertop. Aredhel looked up, and Elenwë made a noise of complaint. “Ignore it.” 

But Aredhel was craning to read the number on the display, and she groaned. “Ah, fuck. It’s Findekáno. They must have noticed I was gone. And he must have guessed where I’d go.” 

Elenwë sighed and pulled back, her arms still looped around Aredhel’s neck. “I guess that’s our sign to wait.” 

“I hate signs,” said Aredhel, but she rummaged in her pocket for her phone to turn it back on. “I’ll text him. And then I should find Turukáno. And then,” she kissed Elenwë once more, “then I’m coming back, and we’re not going to get out of bed for a damn week, because there are so many things I want to do to you.” 

“Can’t wait,” said Elenwë, breathlessly, seemingly unwilling to let her go, and Aredhel laughed, a true laugh, that rang out clear and joyful in the dusk-lit studio. 

“There’s no rush,” she said and she pulled Elenwë into a fierce embrace that almost lifted her off her feet. “Elenwë, if things go as planned, we’ll have all the time in the world.”

 


	4. So they roll through the door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just another day.

Maglor drifted through the kitchen, talking animatedly on his cell phone. “Yes, but Daeron, don’t you understand? _Catharsis_ is exactly what we’re going for. No, come on, listen… It’s not sentiment to want to explore our origins, it’s only sentiment if we allow what we _want_ to be true to matter more than _truth itself_. And yes, I know that truth is of itself subjective, but…” 

Caranthir cast a helpless look across the table at Maedhros, who had put down his crossword puzzle and was resting his chin on his hand, listening to their brother with resigned fascination. 

“Okay, but if you _invert_ the cliché, and instead assume that rather than void, before the beginning there was _everything…_ ” 

Caranthir made a noise of disbelief and reached over to snag Maedhros’ reading glasses from where his brother had laid them down on the table. He settled them over his nose and affected a supercilious air that made him look rather alarmingly like Turgon. Maedhros suppressed a laugh. 

“…taking the death of stars as a given, shouldn’t the next movement include…” 

“…taking the modality of the universe as implied, my dear Daeron,” said Caranthir, in a low voice, steepling his fingers. “The next movement should imply the creation of life as originating with the massive gravitational orbit of your mother’s tremendous ass.” 

Maedhros couldn’t suppress a snort at that, and Maglor frowned at both of them, placing a hand over the receiver. “Do you mind?” 

Caranthir blinked back innocently and Maedhros said, “Oh, just take it into the living room, won’t you, Káno?” 

With a last annoyed glance over his shoulder, Maglor wandered off. 

“Jesus,” said Caranthir. “I know he’s talented and all, but what a bag of hot air.” 

Maedhros struggled with diplomacy for a second before relenting and giving a groan. “He can be such a pompous ass, sometimes.”

“Who’s an ass?” Curufin came in and dropped his books and laptop onto the table.

“Makalaurë,” said Caranthir, leaning over to peer at the pile of books. “ _Metallurgy and the Elements._ Looks _fascinating_ , Curvo.” 

“I wouldn’t expect a third-rate mind like yours to be able to appreciate it,” said Curufin, bored. “Why is Makalaurë an ass?” 

“A pompous ass,” corrected Caranthir. “And who are you calling third-rate?” 

“Can we save the banter?” asked Maedhros, snagging his glasses back from Caranthir. “I was just going to do the crossword and have some coffee – ” 

Loud voices from the hallway interrupted him. 

“Way to put on an extra burst of speed at the end when you’d been lagging the whole run, _cheater_.”

“Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’ve got more left at the end than you.” 

“Funny, I haven’t historically noticed that endurance was your strong suit, Tyelko.” 

“Oho, we gonna get personal, are we…?” 

Celegorm and Aredhel burst into the kitchen, both flushed and sweaty in their running clothes. Celegorm was bare-chested and Aredhel had stripped to her sports bra. They each had something dark and round clutched in their hands. 

“What are those?” asked Maedhros, curiously.

“What are what? Oh.” Celegorm looked down at his fists. “Avocados.” 

“Is that some sort of new training regimen, or…?” 

“Nah,” said Aredhel, wiping her forehead on her arm. “Honeychild here got a craving for guac three miles in and then whined until we stopped for supplies.” 

Celegorm held the avocados triumphantly over his head. “Guacamole! Food of the gods. To be consumed alongside copious amounts of tequila.”

“It’s a Tuesday,” said Maedhros, but Celegorm shook a finger at him. 

“What does the day matter? It’s a time of celebration!” 

“What are we celebrating?” asked Caranthir. 

“That our own baby Irissë is finally getting laid on the reg.” Celegorm wrapped an arm around Aredhel’s waist and hoisted her exuberantly against his hip. 

She let her feet dangle, unperturbed, and tossed the avocados to Maedhros. “Yep.” 

“My impression was always that she _was_ getting regularly laid,” Caranthir said. “By you, Tyelko. I can’t believe that you’d celebrate losing such a consistently easy lay.” 

He looked up as a heavy hand descended on the back of his neck. “You know how I’m supposed to tell you when you’re about to cross a line?” said Maedhros, mildly. 

“Yeah?”

“Look behind you.” 

Caranthir subsided, and Celegorm dropped Aredhel back to the ground. “Anyway, you little jackass, be nice or I won’t give you any tequila.” He pulled his tee-shirt out of the back of his shorts, where he’d tucked it during the run, and used it to mop his face and bare torso. This done, he dropped it absently into Curufin’s lap and wandered over to the fridge. 

Curufin, with a look of deep disgust, picked the shirt up between his thumb and forefinger and let it fall on the ground. 

Maedhros sighed. “Couldn’t people just put things away?” he said, without much hope. “Is that too much to ask?” 

“Apparently,” said Aredhel. “I don’t know how you do it, Maitimo, I wouldn’t survive a week living in a house with all my siblings.” She snagged an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter. “And your siblings are much worse than mine.” 

“Hey,” said Celegorm. “I resen – Curvo, what the actual _fuck_.” 

“Nelyo said to put it away,” said Curufin, looking up from the trashcan where he’d just dropped Celegorm’s shirt. “So I did.” 

“You little shit, that’s my favorite – ” Celegorm lunged for Curufin, who dodged neatly out of the way. 

“Just close the refrigerator before you kill him, please,” called Maedhros, and put his head into his hands. 

“Poor Russandol,” said Aredhel, patting him on the back. “Where’s my brother? Shouldn’t he be here rubbing your shoulders and making sympathetic noises at you?” 

“If you’re talking about Findekáno…”

“Yes, obviously. The brother who’s currently still speaking to me. Anyway, I didn’t think you and Turno had that kind of relationship.” 

“He’s still angry?" asked Maedhros quietly, as Celegorm pursued Curufin out of the room and Caranthir followed, making commentary. 

“Well, yeah. His girlfriend kinda dumped him for me and now I’m spending five nights a week at her place having mind-blowing sex. It’s a tough burden for him to bear.” Despite herself, Aredhel couldn’t help but grin, and Maedhros shook his head, smiling. 

“It doesn’t seem to be weighing on you overmuch.” 

“Eh, I’ve never been that good at guilt.” She patted him on the shoulder again. “I leave that sort of thing to you. But seriously, where is Finno? I haven’t seen him in days. I just assumed he was over here, living in your bed as usual.” 

“He’s been working pretty nonstop,” said Maedhros. “Ever since I resigned he’s had double the work. I feel bad about it, but…” 

“…but you had to do the noble thing and resign your post after the scandal, blah blah,” said Aredhel. “If my brother works himself to death because of you, I shall have vengeance, Nelyo.” 

Maedhros looked distressed. “I am sorry, I only – ” 

“Jesus fuck, Maitimo, are your brothers inciting World War Three out there? Again?” Fingon slammed into the kitchen, looking harassed. “Fucking chaos.” He swung his bag down onto the table and his eyes lit up as he noticed Aredhel. 

“Irissë! Haven’t seen you in ages.” 

“Hey, big brother,” she said, grinning as he pulled her into a one-armed hug. 

“I assumed you were still immersed in your love nest.” 

“Yeah, well, likewise, but Maitimo says you’ve just been working a lot.” 

“It’s true.” Fingon sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Turukáno would be shocked at my work ethic.” He glanced up, catching himself. “Whoops. Are we still at the ‘let’s pretend the other one doesn’t exist’ stage with you two?” 

“I’m ready to talk whenever he is,” said Aredhel. “But right now, icy silence seems to be his preferred move, so I’m going with it.” 

Fingon made a sympathetic face at her, then turned his attention to Maedhros. “Sorry it’s been so long, babe. I meant to come over last night, but – Oh fuck, you’re wearing your glasses? Help.” He draped himself over Maedhros’ lap and pulled him into a long kiss. “You know I can’t resist you in those.” 

Maedhros smiled as Fingon took his face in his hands and scrutinized him. “I guess I should wear them more often, hm?” 

“Definitely,” agreed Fingon, and kissed him again hungrily. 

“I’m gonna go join World War Three,” said Aredhel hastily, as Maedhros wrapped a hand around Fingon’s hip and pulled him closer. “Give a shout when you’re…um, done.” 

“Yes, sure, that,” said Fingon distractedly. “I want to talk to you about your girl thing, and also the our brother thing, and…stuff…” He lost focus as Maedhros nuzzled into his neck, and Aredhel fled. 

“Any reason we shouldn’t do this in the kitchen?” Fingon asked, as Maedhros slid a hand up under his shirt. “Stupid question, I know.” 

“All I wanted was to do my crossword and have a cup of coffee,” said Maedhros, lifting Fingon easily onto the table. “But my brothers seem determined to interrupt that, so I might as well move on to other activities.” 

Fingon wrapped his legs around Maedhros’ waist as Maedhros made quick work of his belt. “And should we be concerned about being walked in on?” 

Maedhros did a quick count in his head even as he tossed Fingon’s belt to the floor. “I think they’re all outside now…wait, everyone except – ” 

“…the final movement should definitely be concerned with the providence of passion.” Maglor was back, waving his hands as he held the phone between shoulder and ear. “Passion and the…Oh, _god._ ” He backed up so fast that he hit the doorframe and dropped his phone. “Oh no. Sorry. Ahh, seriously?” He retreated in haste, scrambling to retrieve his phone, and Maedhros could only laugh helplessly, resting his head on Fingon’s shoulder. 

“Sorry about that, Makalaurë!” called Fingon, as Maedhros resumed disrobing him. “You were saying something about passion…?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. See if you can spot the part based on something that happened to me today.  
> 1\. Unrelated: I feel like modern!Maedhros and Fingon (so relieved to be free of the expectations of canon) are terrible about PDA. At least, that’s my excuse for consistently writing them as unable to take their hands off each other.


	5. Taste the smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something something classic summer song about getting high with High Elves.

“You owe me,” said Caranthir, as Celegorm took a long hit and closed his eyes in pleasure. 

“Ahh, shut up, little brother,” said Celegorm, lazily, blowing out a long stream of smoke. “The amount of booze I bought for you when you were underage…” 

“We’re getting pretty damn close to even.” 

“We’re family, dear child, what’s yours is mine. What’s mine is yours.” 

“Does that apply to sexual partners?” 

“Sicko,” said Celegorm. “Besides, like 90% of my former sexual partners are lesbians now.” 

“Is Irissë 90% of your sexual partners? Because that makes a lot of sense.” 

“Asshole,” said Celegorm, and kicked at his brother’s feet. “And you're so not one to talk.  _How_ many times have you asked that girl out? Seven? Eight? Fifteen? _She’s gay_ , dude. She dates _women_.” 

“She might be bi,” said Caranthir, flushing. 

“She might be,” acknowledged Celegorm. “Point is, whatever you’re dangling, Haleth ain’t biting. Give _up_.” 

“You sound just like Aunt Lalwen,” muttered Caranthir. “Pass the joint.” 

“Joint? My goodness, children.” 

Caranthir jumped, but Celegorm laughed. “What’s up, Finno?” 

Fingon slung himself down on the grass beside them. “I am finally fucking done with my work week. How about you?” 

“College student,” said Caranthir, snagging the joint from Celegorm. 

“Unemployed,” said Celegorm, and snagged it back. “But we can _totally_ feel sympathy for a drone like you.” 

“Really?” 

“No.”

“Cheers,” said Fingon. “Pass it over.” 

Celegorm grinned at him. “Sure thing. Just open your mouth, baby.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” 

“C’mon,” said Celegorm. “What’s a shotgun between friends?” 

Fingon rolled his eyes. “I must be desperate.” He leaned forward. Celegorm took a long drag of the joint. 

Caranthir frowned. “You’re supposed to put the lit end in your – ” 

“Shut up,” said Celegorm, without exhaling. He leaned forward and blew lightly between Fingon’s parted lips.

Fingon breathed in, closing his eyes. “Damn.” He shook his head at last and let out the smoke in a long breath. “It’s been a while.” 

Celegorm winked. “I’m here whenever you need some, baby.” 

“Gross,” said Caranthir absently. 

“Seconded,” said Fingon. 

“Hey, all I’m saying is – ” 

“Oh look, it’s Nelyo,” said Caranthir. “Better stop your ‘hitting on his boyfriend’ shtick.” 

“It’s not a shtick,” said Celegorm, looking hurt. “I genuinely want Findekáno for his body – heyy, Nelyo!” 

Maedhros folded his arms and looked down on them. “Pot? Seriously?” 

Celegorm smiled winningly. “At least we’re outside.” 

“Tyelko’s hogging it all anyway,” said Caranthir. “I’m sober as a pope over here.” 

“Judge,” said Fingon. 

“What?” 

“Judge. You’re as sober as – never mind.” He looked up at Maedhros and patted the ground next to him. “It’s been a long week, Maitimo. Sit down and join us.” 

“Don’t bother,” said Celegorm, passing the joint to Caranthir at last. “He’s got too much of a stick up his butt to – ” 

“Only when _we_ ask,” said Caranthir, with uncharacteristic shrewdness. “He’ll do it for Findekáno.” 

And sure enough, Maedhros was sighing and dropping down to the grass beside them as Fingon smiled. 

“Happy Friday,” he said, and wound an arm around Maedhros’ waist. 

Maedhros pressed a kiss to his temple and dropped a cell phone into his lap. “You left your phone. Irissë texted.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Oh, right,” said Celegorm, fumbling hastily for his own phone. “Shit, I was supposed to have texted her like 3 hours ago, _whoops_.” 

“It’s cool,” said Fingon, unconcernedly, leaning his head against Maedhros’ shoulder. “She knows you’re reliably unreliable. Anyway, she’s on her way over.” 

“Oh, good,” said Celegorm vaguely. “Want a hit, Nelyo?” 

“He’ll never,” said Caranthir, but Celegorm laughed. 

“You weren’t in high school with him and Makalaurë.” 

Maedhros sighed and held out his hand. “I’ll partake if you promise to tell no stories of those days, Tyelko.” 

“I promise,” said Celegorm, handing over the joint. “But Findekáno doesn’t.” 

“Nope,” said Fingon. “And I’ve got _all_ the good stories. _And_ the ones you don’t know about, Tyelko. The one with the roof, and the one with the pole vault pit, and – ” 

Caranthir watched, fascinated, as Maedhros took an expert hit from the joint and then leaned down to kiss Fingon, long and slow. 

“There’s more where that came from,” he said after an impressively long interlude, pulling back as Fingon coughed and shook his head. “If you keep your mouth shut, Finno.” 

“Yes, sir,” said Fingon, grinning dazedly. “ _Damn._ ”

“Ugh,” said Caranthir, and Celegorm checked his phone. 

“Where is Irissë?”

“You rang?” Aredhel appeared behind them, Elenwë at her side. 

“Hey, babe!” Celegorm looked up at them, smiling. “Good to see you.” 

“Hold up,” said Aredhel, raising a hand and looking around. “I _knew_ I smelled pot.” 

“What, no greeting for me?” asked Celegorm, wounded. 

“You get a greeting when you answer your texts within, like, four hours of receiving them,” said Aredhel. “Hand over the drugs, kid.” 

“You’re like a K-9 unit, I swear to god. You can smell weed from a mile off.” 

“Like it takes a bloodhound,” said Aredhel. “I could smell this from the end of the block. Pass it over.” 

“Open your mouth.” 

“I'm not about to fall for that trick.” She reached down and plucked the joint from his hand. 

“No fair,” said Fingon. “He made _me_ shotgun it.” 

“He what?” said Maedhros, frowning. 

“Yeah, well that’s because I find you sexually alluring, Finno,” said Celegorm, with a leer. “Anything to get you opening your mouth for me to blow into – Jesus, Maitimo, I was _joking_.” He dodged the fist Maedhros aimed at his head. 

“Anyway,” said Aredhel, and took a long hit. “God, that’s good.” 

“Your lady gonna try some?” asked Celegorm, scooting over to shelter behind Caranthir as Maedhros stared daggers at him. 

Elenwë shook her head. “Someone’s gotta drive us home.” 

“You can always stay,” said Maedhros, as Fingon tugged him back to lean against him. “The couch is always an option, you know that.” 

“I was just making excuses,” said Elenwë. “I get really weird when I’m high.” 

“Bring it on,” exclaimed Celegorm, but Elenwë shook her head, laughing. 

“I’m going to take a hard pass.” 

“It’s true,” said Aredhel, putting an arm around her. “She gets super paranoid and twitchy. Last time she passed out and dreamt that Zach Braff cracked her chest open and took out her lungs.” 

“Ugh,” said Fingon. “Don’t plant those kind of images in my brain.” 

“You think that’s horrifying,” said Caranthir, “this one time – ” 

“Oh _no_ ,” said Elenwë suddenly, and shrank down, pulling Aredhel with her. 

“What? I didn’t even get to the – ” 

Aredhel’s eyes widened. “Oh _shit_.” She dropped down too, and the others peered down at them both.

“What the hell?” 

But then Maedhros elbowed Fingon and gestured. “Look.” 

Fingon craned around. “Oh. Hum. Okay, girls? Get ready to bolt.” 

He jumped to his feet and beelined for the driveway, where two figures were walking up, engrossed in conversation. One was blond and slightly built, the other dark-haired and very tall. 

“Hey, Turno! Long time no see!” As Fingon pulled his brother into an extravagant hug, Maedhros gestured meaningfully to Aredhel and Elenwë, who leapt up and took off around the other side of the house.

-

They came to a halt in the back garden, listening to the voices from the front yard. 

“Guess we’re safe here,” said Aredhel, and then paused, looking startled. “Wow. Did you hear those words just come out of my mouth? I’m talking about avoiding my _brother_ like he’s the zombie apocalypse.” 

“Well,” said Elenwë, leaning up against the side of the house. “He may be your brother, but he’s also the man I scorned. So really, I have more of a reason to hide.”

She paused too. “You’re right, that does sound idiotic.” 

Aredhel sighed and plopped down in the grass in front of Elenwë. “I’m not usually so conflict adverse,” she said musingly. “Maybe I really do feel guilty. Am I turning into Nelyo?” 

Elenwë laughed and ran a hand over Aredhel’s tousled curls. “Maybe you should just talk to him.” 

“He doesn’t want to talk to me,” said Aredhel. “He won’t answer my calls. Well, call.” She winced. 

“You only tried once?” exclaimed Elenwë. “Oh, Ireth. You’re as bad as he is.” 

“I’m sorry,” said Aredhel, affecting a pathetic look. “But I was so dazed and happy and in love that I – ” She broke off as Elenwë’s eyes widened. 

“In – ”

“Oh.” Aredhel flushed. “Um, so – ” 

“Was that melodrama, or are you actually saying – ” 

“The latter?” said Aredhel, and twisted her hands together. “Shit, I really meant to tell you in a different way.”

But Elenwë was smiling, dropping to her knees beside her. “You love me?” 

“Of course I do,” said Aredhel, meeting her eyes and going slightly breathless at the warmth there. “Honestly, El, I assumed you knew.” 

“Oh, _Irissë_.” Elenwë shook her head and pulled Aredhel into a fierce kiss. “You bonehead. I love you too.”

-

“Planning to partake?” Caranthir gestured to Finrod and Turgon, but Celegorm made a skeptical noise. 

“Pff.” Celegorm waved a dismissive hand. “Those two goody goodies don’t smoke.” 

Fingon snorted loudly and Celegorm frowned at him. “What?” 

“Nothing,” Fingon said, and grinned. “Except that these two used to trip _balls_ together.” 

Turgon shoved his hands into his pockets, looking uncomfortable. “It was just one summer.” 

But Fingon was still chortling. “Remember the night you took peyote and told me you met God? I had to go pick you up all the way down at the damn _pier_.” 

“I should never tell you anything,” said Turgon, flushing. 

“ _Tell_ me? I witnessed it! Off your damn skull, going on about hidden cities…” 

“No,” said Celegorm, a little too loudly. “Turno?” He turned to Turgon, looking impressed. “My compliments, sir. Sit your ass down and have a toke.” 

“No thanks,” said Turgon, but Finrod dropped down next to Celegorm and plucked the joint neatly from his hand. 

“Much appreciated, Tyelko,” he said, and brought it to his lips. 

“And him,” said Fingon, pointing. “On and on and _on_ about _caves_ and meeting _God_ and portents of _doom_ …”

“Hang on,” said Turgon, frowning. “ _I_ was the one who thought I met God.” 

“Yes, well,” said Finrod. “So was I.” 

“What? No, you’re totally just stealing my peyote trip story.” 

“Psh,” said Fingon. “Like either of you even remember it. I only do because I had to drive you both home, raving like loons in the back seat.” 

“And don’t forget whose tender care you entrusted them to,” said a quiet voice, and they all looked up. 

Galadriel stood there, her bright hair glowing faintly in the light from the house, Amarië at her side. 

“Artanis!” 

“Christ, it’s been forever.” 

“Are you still dating that hippie?” 

Galadriel smiled but didn’t answer, and folded her long legs under her gracefully, sitting beside Maedhros. Finrod waved at his sister and reached up to pull Amarië into his lap. Amarië kissed him and settled back against his chest. 

“What’s all this about you and hallucinogenic drugs?” 

“It was fine until Findekáno left us with Nerwen,” said Finrod, smiling as he tucked his chin against Amarië’s shoulder. “I think she pulled pranks on us the whole time.” 

“My god,” said Turgon, starting in sudden recollection. “That horrific thing with the mirror…” 

Finrod shuddered. “And at one point she was glowing.” 

Galadriel hummed placidly. “I was putting on my costume for our production of The Tempest,” she said. “It involved a lot of body paint.” 

“Whatever you say,” said Turgon, uneasily. “That was a _weird_ afternoon.” 

They were still laughing when a shadow fell across them. Fingon looked up. 

“Shit,” he said. “We should have designated a warning sound. A bird hoot or something. An owl whistle.” 

“You’re stoned,” said Aredhel, and nudged Turgon lightly with her toe. “Hey, brother.” 

Turgon looked up at her, backlit against the dark sky, and was quiet a moment. Then he stood without a word and turned to go. 

“Hey, wait,” said Aredhel catching his sleeve. “Can we please talk?” 

“I don’t want to – I have nothing to _say_ ,” Turgon’s voice was low and tight, his lips barely moving. “Leave me _alone_ , Irissë.” He pulled away from her and made to go, but she blocked his way. 

“Turno. Please?” 

He looked at her, then back at the circle of curious faces. They all looked hastily away when his gaze fell on them. Celegorm actually twiddled his thumbs. 

“You’re making a scene,” Turgon said. 

“Actually, you’re the one making it a scene,” said Aredhel and sighed. “Come on. Give me ten minutes. Let’s go inside and talk.” 

“Is she here?” Turgon was staring at the ground now, determinedly not meeting his sister’s eyes, and Aredhel swallowed. 

“Yeah. But you don’t have to see her if you don’t want to.” 

“Good,” said Turgon forcefully. “I don’t think I could handle – Fine, Ireth. Ten minutes. But that’s all.” 

“Thank you,” she said, setting her jaw against the words. “Inside, then?” 

The rest watched them set off for the house, Turgon’s back rigidly straight, Aredhel’s shoulders tight. 

Celegorm let out a low whistle. “Yikes.” 

Fingon was watching worriedly. “Do you think I should go with them?”

“No,” said Maedhros. “Best to let them work it out themselves.” 

“Where’s Elenwë?” asked Amarië, sliding from Finrod’s lap to look around. 

“Hiding.” Elenwë came from around the back of the house. “Being pathetic.”

Amarië made a sympathetic noise and held out her arms. Elenwë sighed and leaned against her as the taller girl folded her into a hug. 

“They'll reconcile,” said Galadriel, in a tone that made the matter sound settled. 

“You’re so sure?” 

“Yes,” said Galadriel, and left it at that. 

Caranthir sighed gustily. “Sooo. Where were we before all the soap opera drama happened?” 

“Getting high,” said Finrod. 

“Hearing about Nelyo the high school stoner,” said Celegorm, and smirked at his brother.

“Spending the last 30 minutes collecting an arsenal of embarrassing memories to wield against you,” said Maedhros, tossing a clump of dirt at Celegorm. “Careful how you tread.”

“I’m ashamed of nothing,” said Celegorm, crossing his arms behind his head and leaning back. “Bring it on.” 

“Two words,” said Maedhros, and there was a glint in his eyes. “Wet dog.” 

“Okay,” said Celegorm loudly. “Everyone shut up about Nelyo being a high school stoner already, I have no good stories about it, and neither does Findekáno, right?” 

“I dunno,” said Fingon, grinning. “I’m kind of intrigued about what stories there are that could embarrass _Tyelko_ …” 

“Best we all keep our mouths shut, hm?” said Maedhros lightly, as he pulled a chuckling Fingon against his side.

“Has it been ten minutes yet?” asked Elenwë, trying to read her watch in the darkness. “Do you think we should check on them?”

“They’ll be back in three,” said Galadriel confidently. “And all will be, if not well, then on its way to well.”

“How do you know?” asked Elenwë, drawing her brows together quizzically. 

“She just does,” said Celegorm, Caranthir, Maedhros, Fingon, and Finrod together.

Galadriel gave a serene smile. “Yes. Now, someone pass the joint.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. I wrote this entire chapter just to set up the one-off joke about Finrod and Turgon tripping balls together. The rest is incidental.  
> 1\. I’m not much of a pot smoker, so if this all reads rather like, “HEY FELLOW KIDS let’s smoke some DRUG CIGARETTES” it’s because I actually am Steve Buschemi’s character from 30 Rock.


	6. Fight with myself ‘til I’m bleeding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are some secrets even best friends don't know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Warnings for this particular chapter: This chapter contains descriptions of a relationship between two people, both over 18, where one is in an authority position over the other. It also mentions a gnarly sports injury, but doesn't go into any real detail. Warnings also for Celegorm being reckless and an eensy bit self-destructive (ok, a lot self-destructive).  
> 1\. This is a bit more intense than previous chapters. Unintentional. No fear, it'll return to bad jokes and alcohol soon enough.

Aredhel jogged lightly in place, waiting for the light to change. “I swear, your dad still sometimes scares the shit out of me.” 

Celegorm pulled off his shirt and used it to wipe sweat from his face. “What? You weren’t even there this morning, chill out.” 

“Findekáno told me about it.” 

Celegorm snorted with laughter. “Oh, that’s right. How’d he make his escape? Window?” 

“Window.” The light changed and they set off across the street, rounding the corner and making their way onto the bike path. “Your dad’s unexpected Sunday brunch drop-ins are murder for people he hates who are dating his sons.” 

Celegorm laughed. “Ah, perfect Nelyo, driving our father up the wall by sleeping with a Nolofinwion.” 

“How long will it take him to get used to the idea?” 

“Well past their tenth wedding anniversary, I’d say,” said Celegorm. “Hold up, shoe tie.” 

They came to a halt, and Aredhel braced her hands on her hips, catching her breath as Celegorm did up his sneaker lace. 

“I’m just glad he never knew about me and you,” said Aredhel, pulling her ponytail tighter. “How much would he have lost it?” 

“We would never have found ‘it’ again,” said Celegorm, straightening up. “But you’ve found another pretty blonde now, so…” 

Aredhel sighed happily, and they started to jog again. “She is _so_ much prettier than you.” 

“Hah. As if.” Celegorm tossed his head. “No one is prettier than me.” 

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall…” 

“Don’t even front, bitch, I am the fairest of them all.” 

They ran on, laughing and joking, dodging strollers and dog walkers alike. Aredhel was scarcely paying attention to where she was going when Celegorm grabbed her sharply by the arm. 

“ _Ow_.” She gave a cry of surprise and pain as Celegorm’s fingers closed tight around her wrist. “What the – ” 

But Celegorm pulled her abruptly from the path and into a brambly stand of trees, shielded from the view of the joggers and bicyclists on the path. 

“Tyelko, what the fuck _– mmph._ ”

Celegorm clapped a hand over her mouth. “Shh,” he hissed, eyes fixed on the path. 

She froze against him, silently fuming. He was tense against her back, unusually still. She could feel his heart thumping against her shoulder blades. 

On the path, through the flickers of leaves and branches, a man was passing. Tall, broad-shouldered and powerfully built, with braided brown hair and dark skin, he was walking with a large wolfhound padding at his side. Though he carried no leash, the dog stuck close to his hip, not even turning his head as bikers and joggers passed them. 

Aredhel frowned. Something about the man, something about those distinctive eyes – such a light brown they were almost golden – was familiar. She squinted, and memory hit her, all at once. Sitting at the sidelines at one of Celegorm’s rugby matches, and that tall man thumping Celegorm on the shoulder as he came off the field, covered in mud and (often) blood, grinning like a fiend, his light hair a wild corona around his head, pure joy and barely restrained violence in every line of his body. 

Recognition thudded into her, and she blinked, but the man had gone. Celegorm released her, and let out his breath. 

She turned to look up at him. “Wasn’t that your old coach?” 

Celegorm didn’t look at her. “Mm.” 

Aredhel put her hands on her hips. “Look, Tyelko, I’ll forgive you _manhandling_ me into the bushes only if you give me some straight answers.” 

Celegorm looked uncharacteristically awkward. “Fine. Yeah, that’s my old coach.” 

“What’s his name - Oromë?” 

“Yeah.” 

“And _why_ are we hiding from him?” 

“Um. Y’know. My senior year on the team didn’t end super hot…” he trailed off, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. 

“Yeah, I remember.” She scowled at him. “You went fucking batshit in a match and ended up with a compound fracture. Idiot. I’m still mad at you about that.” 

“Yeah. Well, there were a lot of things about my last season that didn’t go according to plan.” He fell silent then, and she waited. 

“Like?” 

“Jeez, Irissë, you can’t just let it drop?”

“Tyelko.” Aredhel grabbed him by the ears and dragged his head around so that he looked her in the eyes. “I know you better than anyone. You don’t hide from shit. You don’t hide from people you’ve been in fights with, you don’t hide from people you’ve embarrassed yourself in front of, god knows, you don’t even hide from ex-girlfriends who have legitimate reasons for wanting you flayed. _Why_ are we hiding now?” 

Celegorm squirmed. “Can we keep running? If I’m going to get into this, I need to be moving.” 

“Fine,” said Aredhel, and released him.

They set off down the path in the opposite direction from the one the man – Oromë, Aredhel reminded herself again – had taken. It was still several long minutes before Celegorm spoke, jostled by Aredhel’s insistent elbow. 

“You know how I told you I’ve had, like, one experience with a guy?” 

“Yeah,” said Aredhel. “Tyelko’s great gay experiment, of which you will tell me no details.”

“Yeah.” 

“Am I about to get details?”

“How explicit do you want?” Celegorm’s old grin was back, if a little crooked, and she swiped at him.

“Give me what’s important, perv. Only,” she almost stopped running, her eyes widening. “Wait. I know you were just fucking with me all those times you hinted it was Findekáno, but if you – ” 

“Christ, Ireth, _no_. Not even when he and Nelyo were split up. Do you know how many pieces my brother would have left me in? I know he seems less violent than me, but that’s all a cover.” He shuddered. “Anyway, apart from some flirting to drive up Nelyo’s blood pressure, siblings’ lovers are off-limits. That’s a rule I obey, even though some people…” He nudged her, and she made a face. 

“Man, you have _got_ to let that go. I seduce _one_ of my brother’s girlfriends and all of a sudden it’s my damn legacy.” 

Celegorm laughed. “ _So_ against the Code.” 

“You’re getting off topic.” Aredhel flicked her ponytail over her shoulder and attempted to give him the stink-eye. “So. The Great Gay Escapade. Not with my brother. Who was it? A teammate? Did your coach walk in on you or something? Did he give you shit for it, or freak out on you? ” 

Celegorm sighed. “Close, but no cigar.” 

“No?”

“Not a teammate. And no, he didn’t walk in, so much as…” he trailed off, and Aredhel stopped dead in her tracks. 

“No.” 

Celegorm pulled up and turned back to her. “Yeah.” 

“No. You fucked your _coach_?” 

Celegorm smiled uneasily. “Yeah?” 

Aredhel boggled. “Just once, or – ” 

“More than once.” Celegorm looked over his shoulder and scrubbed his hand through his hair like he did when he was uncomfortable. “Kind of…for six months?” 

“Jesus.” Aredhel sat down at the side of the path, not even caring as a biker swore and swerved around her. “So this was like an _affair._ ” 

“Yeah.”

“He’s not married, is he?”

Celegorm smiled a little at that. “No.” 

“But still.” She looked up severely. “Seriously inappropriate. He’d be fired for – I mean, taking advantage of one of his athletes, Jesus.”

“Fuck, spare me,” said Celegorm, and a hint of fire came into his eyes. “Think I haven’t heard this before?” 

“You told someone else?” She looked indignant. “You kept it a secret from _me_ , but told – ” 

“I haven’t told anyone, dummy,” Celegorm interrupted. “I’m talking about him. That’s pretty much exactly what he said when he ended things.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” 

Oromë held out a hand, but Celegorm pushed it aside. 

“Tyelkormo…” 

“No, don’t give me that shit.” Celegorm balled his fists at his side. “Why are you doing this?”

Oromë sighed. “Because of the reasons I just listed. I am in a position of authority here, your coach and mentor, and I have taken advantage of that to…have a relationship with you. It is unethical, not to mention against the University Code of– ”

“Taking  _advantage_ of me?” Celegorm laughed mirthlessly. “That’s such bullshit. I’m not a kid, I’m twenty fucking one years old. I came on to you. I’m the one who pursued you, I’m the one who turned up at your house and  - ” 

“I know,” said Oromë, closing his eyes briefly. “But it’s not that simple. None of that means that I should have encouraged you.” 

“Encouraged me?” Celegorm stepped closer. “You _wanted_ me. You still want me.” 

“Tyelko…” 

“You fucking _coward_.” 

“You are seven months away from graduating,” said Oromë, and there was something like a plea in his low, rich voice. “Once you’re no longer a student, no longer one of my players, perhaps we could…” 

“Right,” spat Celegorm. “Right, like you’ll still be interested in seven months. I bet you’ll just have some new excuse then, some new bullshit about why you don’t want me – _coward_.” 

“I am not rejecting you,” said Oromë, laying his hand on Celegorm’s shoulder. “I’m just trying to do what I should have done six months ago.” 

But Celegorm knocked his hand away and bared his teeth. “Take what you want and get out, huh? It’s a good move, Coach. But why bother with the pretense of acting like you care? Why not just keep fucking me, keep using me – that’s all you did, right? Used me? Took advantage of me?” He tore his shirt off and stood before him, bare chested and beautiful in his rage. “C’mon. You know you want this.” He grabbed the front of Oromë’s shirt and pushed him back against the wall, somewhere between violence and desire. “Fuck me,” he whispered, and kissed Oromë, all teeth and bitter passion. “Use me. I don’t care.” 

But Oromë was seizing his shoulders with large, strong hands, and pushing him gently but insistently back. “Tyelkormo.”

“Fuck you!” Celegorm cried and swung at him. Oromë caught his wrist and held him back easily. “Fuck you, fuck you, _fuck_ you…”

“Tyelko,” said Oromë, gently. “You need to go.” 

“No,” said Celegorm, and his voice broke. “Don’t send me away.” 

“I don’t have a choice.” 

“Oromë…” 

“You need to go.” 

“Please…” 

“Now,” said Oromë, and his voice was as commanding as it was on the practice fields. 

“Fine.” Celegorm broke away, a savage look coming over his face. “Fine, you cowardly fuck, you weak, pathetic asshole…” He grabbed his bag and stormed out, slamming the door so hard that he broke a pane of glass. Looking back over his shoulder at the small, shattered square, he paused. He walked slowly back to the door, and methodically punched out every single pane of glass. Then he turned, heedless of the blood dripping from his torn fist, and disappeared into the night.

 

* * *

 

 

“Jesus,” whispered Aredhel. “Tyelko…” 

Celegorm smiled humorlessly. “Yep.” 

“ _Jesus_.”

Celegorm raised his eyebrows at her. “Well. Now you’ve got that story. So. Let’s keep going.” 

“Are you serious?” Aredhel reached up and dragged him down next to her. “After that? I’m not even close to done with you. Tyelko. Were you in love with him?” 

“Don’t be a jackass,” said Celegorm. “I don’t do – ” 

“Were you?” 

Celegorm looked away. “Yes.” 

Aredhel felt an acute burst of pity squeeze her heart. “Oh, babe.” 

“Yeah, well,” Celegorm turned back, a cool smile on his face. “It was helpful for convincing everyone I was in love with Lúthien.” 

“That’s why you were so obsessed.” Aredhel dragged a hand over her face. “You were channeling all that – whatever it all was, over Oromë, into your relationship with her, and then when she left you…” 

“Yeah, yeah, good job, Doc,” said Celegorm. “Well analyzed.” 

“But Jesus, you had to see him through the rest of the season. That must have been brutal.” 

“It wasn’t _fun_ ,” acknowledged Celegorm. “But at least I played a sport that allowed me to beat the shit out of people.” 

“Until you took it too far and got yourself so badly fucked up you couldn’t even play.” 

“There’s that.” 

“What did he have to say about that?”

 

* * *

 

 

Celegorm dragged his eyes open, the morphine is his veins dulling his surroundings  to a soft blur. He shifted, and groaned softly as his leg protested. “Fuck.” 

“Careful.” The quiet, rich voice set Celegorm’s skin pricking with anticipation, even through the drugged haze. 

“Oromë?” 

Oromë came into view then, standing up from the chair where he’d been waiting. “How do you feel?” There were shadows under his eyes, and his handsome face looked worn with exhaustion and worry. 

“I feel fucking peachy, boss, what do you think?” He moved his head restlessly against the pillows. “Glad you decided you cared enough to check in, though.” 

Oromë’s eyes darkened in agony. “Of course I care.” 

“How long have you been here?” 

“I came in with you, Tyelko.”

Celegorm swallowed and tried to keep himself from reaching out. “Cheers. Not the best date I’ve been on, but – ” 

Oromë laid a hand against his wrist, silencing him. “Your parents will be here soon.” 

“I don’t care.” Celegorm flexed his fingers. “When do they say I’ll be up?” 

“Tyelko…” 

“Is it a sprain? Did I dislocate something?” 

“Tyelko,” Oromë’s deep voice held a hint of frustration. “Do you not remember seeing the bone? You broke your leg so badly - You’ve been in surgery for hours.”

“So?” 

“You won’t be on your feet – much less the pitch – for months.” 

Celegorm gave a spasmodic twitch, and bit back a cry of pain as his leg was jostled. A gentle hand descended on his shoulder, stilling him. 

“Try not to move,” said Oromë quietly. “And if you press that button, your morphine drip will – ” 

“I don’t _care_ ,” snarled Celegorm. “I don’t care, I want to feel it, fuck, fuck, _fuck…”_  

“Why did you do it?” demanded Oromë. “Best case you would have been ejected from the game, worst case…”

“I don’t care,” cried Celegorm. “Fuck, Oromë, I don’t care, I just want – ” His hand fisted in Oromë’s sleeve and he dragged him closer. “I miss you,” he said, agony cracking his voice. “I want you, I need you… ” 

Oromë made a low noise of pain. “This is hardly the time…” 

“I _need_ you,” whispered Celegorm, and pulled Oromë down into a desperate kiss. 

For a moment it was just as it always had been. Oromë’s large hand wrapped around the back of his neck, those warm, familiar lips strong and comforting on his. And as ever, for a moment, Celegorm felt totally safe, totally content in stillness for once, content to let himself just _be_ … 

But too soon, Oromë was pulling away. “I can’t. Tyelkormo, you're not even in your right mind right now. You must… Your parents will be here soon.” 

“No,” whispered Celegorm. “Don’t leave.”

But Oromë was already retreating, like he needed to put as much space between them as possible. “Take care of yourself,” he said, with one last, broken smile, and strode from the room. 

“Fuck,” whispered Celegorm, and hurled the plastic cup from his bedside at the closed door in a burst of impotent rage. “ _Fuck._ ”

 

* * *

 

 

“Irissë, stop looking at me like that.” Celegorm frowned, perturbed. “I don’t even – what is that expression?” 

“It’s me wondering whether to hug you and weep or smack you in the head,” said Aredhel. 

Celegorm raised his arms preemptively. “If it’s the latter, I warn you I’m not afraid to defend myself.” 

“Oh, Tyelko.” She sighed. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.” 

“You think that’s something I tell people?” Celegorm scoffed. “Sure. I can see how that would have gone. Hey, Ireth, I was fucking my rugby coach and might be in love with him, but he broke up with me so I smashed a bunch of shit at his house and then fractured my femur.” 

“Yeah,” said Aredhel. “You could have said exactly that. I’m your best friend. You can tell me anything.” 

Celegorm rolled his eyes. “This is kinda outside the realm of our usual discussions.” 

“Is this the first time you’ve seen him?” 

“Since graduation, yeah. And even then – it’s not like I _saw_ him, I just…saw him. From a distance. Can we keep going, please? I’m atrophying here.” 

“Yeah, sure, okay,” said Aredhel absently, and Celegorm hauled her to her feet.

“Stop looking like you’re thinking so hard. It’s disturbing.” 

“Do you plan on seeing him again?” 

“Augh,” said Celegorm. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Do you still have feelings for him?” 

“AUGH,” said Celegorm, louder, and sped up. 

Aredhel pursued him. “I really think – ” 

“Can’t hear you, Irissë, sorry,” said Celegorm loudly. “Oh, look, a straightaway. Let’s sprint!” 

“We’re not done talking!” Aredhel yelled after him as he took off, and bent over, wheezing, her hands on her knees. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2\. UPDATE: If you want a glimpse of Celegorm and Oromë back in the day, complete with lots of smut and minus the heartbreak, see: [We made mad love, shadow love](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2389955).  
> 3\. UPDATE 2: If you want five chapters on how Celegorm and Oromë got together in the first place... [Oh, just indulge me.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3163325/chapters/6867848)


	7. Hot day in heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mending fences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Upping the rating to mature, for this one (sex things). Maybe I'm erring on the side of caution, maybe not; I’m always terrible with figuring out warnings. As usual, terribly coarse language. In my defense, I really do swear this much in casual conversation.  
> 1\. I forgot to mention this seven chapters ago, but the title of this work (and many of the chapters) lifted from a line by AWOLNATION.

The door was terribly familiar, though, as Celegorm noticed with an unusual flicker of shame, the glass panes set in it had all been replaced. 

“Don’t be such a chickenshit,” he said to himself, as he raised his hand and knocked. 

He waited, heart pounding in his ears, as footsteps approached the door. A shadow behind the cloudy glass; a figure, pausing. And then the door opened. 

“Tyelkormo.” 

Celegorm reminded himself to breathe, and raised his eyes to that familiar face. “Hey, Coach.” 

Oromë was still for a moment, studying him, then gestured. “Come in.” 

Celegorm followed him into the hall, memories of his last visit crowding thick and fast. From the tight set of Oromë’s broad shoulders, he wasn’t the only one remembering. There was a light clicking on the wood floors, and Oromë’s huge grey wolfhound padded around the corner. He went straight to Celegorm and nosed into his hand. 

“Hey, boy,” said Celegorm quietly, ruffling the grey fur. “Long time no see.” 

Oromë led him into the kitchen and gestured to a chair. “You want anything to drink?” 

“No,” said Celegorm, taking a seat. The wolfhound stretched out on the floor beside him. “I mean, a stiff whiskey wouldn’t hurt, but I don’t think that’s what you’re offering.” He smiled crookedly as Oromë hesitated. “That was a joke.” 

Oromë sat opposite him, hands loose in his lap. Celegorm couldn’t help but drink him in, taking in every detail. The wide set of his shoulders, the scars on his neck and ear from his own rugby days, the callouses on his broad hands, god, how he loved those hands, how he loved the feel of them on him, brushing rough and hot over his skin, holding him as he rocked closer and closer to… 

“How have you been?” Oromë asked, and Celegorm let out his breath in a rush, hoping the heat throbbing in his veins didn’t show on his face. 

“What? Oh.” He shrugged. “Got a house with my brothers. Not super employed, but I take odd jobs here and there.” 

Oromë nodded. “How’s – How has your leg healed?” There was something painful in his eyes, and Celegorm realized it was guilt. 

“It’s fine,” he said, trying to sound bright and reassuring. “You know. I’m young and healthy. I did PT for a while, and now it’s pretty much as it was. I’m running and everything. It twinges a bit sometimes but,” he grinned and attempted to joke. “I kin always tell when a storm’s comin’.” 

Oromë looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or not, so Celegorm pushed on hurriedly. “How’s the team doing this year?” 

“Fine,” said Oromë, but didn’t elaborate. 

“Is there – ” 

“Tyelko,” said Oromë, “Why did you come here?” 

Celegorm looked at his hands, suddenly uncertain. Had this all been a terrible mistake? He fought a sudden urge to leap from his chair and bolt out of the house. 

“Well?”

At his side, the dog gave a little huff and laid its head on Celegorm’s foot. He leaned down and ruffled its ears, feeling strangely comforted. 

“I wanted to…apologize,” he said. “I, uh. I said some shitty things to you. And…I broke your door pretty badly.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I was pissed, but it was…kinda childish behavior.” He felt less anxious suddenly. It was good, to let the past spill out into the open. 

Oromë seemed to think so too, because his posture loosened somewhat. “What a day,” he said, with grim humor. “I never thought I’d live to see you admitting to childish behavior.” 

“Don’t get used to it,” said Celegorm, and coughed. “But I am sorry about breaking the glass.” 

“It was a stupid thing to do,” said Oromë bluntly. “You could have badly injured yourself, something you seem…prone to. But that’s not to say,” he went on, as Celegorm made to speak, “that I don’t understand why you were angry.” 

Celegorm chewed his lip. “You understand, do you?” There was skepticism in his voice. 

“I too should apologize,” said Oromë, watching him with serious eyes. Celegorm shifted in his chair. Those fucking eyes… “I have done you a great disservice, Tyelko. I know I have caused you grief, and that was never my intent. I always wished only the best for you, of all people, and I failed.” 

“You didn’t,” Celegorm began, but Oromë went on. 

 “I hurt you, in my own selfishness and self-doubt. I never wanted you to feel used.  I never meant for you to feel rejected. I never meant for you to feel unwanted.” 

“That’s what killed me, Coach,” said Celegorm, and Oromë flinched at the word. “I _knew_ you wanted me. I knew you wanted me just as much as I wanted you. I just couldn’t understand why you wouldn’t let me _have_ you.” 

“And now?” 

Celegorm tilted his head to the side. “Now…I think I get where you were coming from. And I wouldn’t have wanted to get you in trouble.” 

Oromë looked concerned and leaned forward on his knees. “Fear about losing my job was lowest on my list. It wasn’t non-existent, but mostly I wanted to make sure I wasn’t abusing my position over you.” 

“Yeah, well, talk like that’s only going to get me hotter for you,” said Celegorm, and raised his hands at the look on Oromë’s face. “Joking! Mostly.” 

Oromë sighed, and then laughed. “I’ve missed you,” he said, and Celegorm’s heart sped up. 

“Have you?” 

“More than I should,” said Oromë, and Celegorm found himself shifting forward in his chair, aching for him. 

“I’ve graduated,” he said. “I’ve been out of school for a while now. Does that…offer you made still stand?” 

There was a long pause, and Celegorm bit his tongue, impatient, but determined to wait until Oromë replied.

“You realize it still won’t be easy,” said Oromë, at last. “There will still be questions of impropriety, still be those who – ” 

Celegorm twitched a shoulder dismissively. “I don’t give a shit who talks about me. But if it puts your job at risk, then I’m fine keeping it quiet for a while.” 

“You shouldn’t have to hide,” said Oromë. “It’s not fair that you would have to be in this position because of me.” 

“Lots of things aren’t fair,” said Celegorm. “But Coach – Oromë – I want to start over with you.” 

“Do you?” asked Oromë. “With all that entails?” 

“All of it,” said Celegorm, and he leaned forward and put his hand on Oromë’s knee. “ _All of it_.”

He kissed Oromë then, slow and sweet, and his heart leapt when Oromë kissed him back, hands settling warm and heavy on Celegorm’s thighs. 

Celegorm felt intoxicated with the pleasure of it, with how right it felt: a sense of longing fulfilled. He parted his lips, welcoming Oromë’s tongue, fighting to keep himself from moving too fast and breaking this fragile moment. But when Oromë wrapped a strong arm around his waist, tugging him up and in, he threw patience to the winds and let himself groan under Oromë’s lips. 

“Tyelko – ” 

“It’s been so fucking long since I’ve had you,” whispered Celegorm. “Do you know how often I still fantasize about you? Every time I take my cock out to jack off, all I can think about is you pushing into me, all hot and slow, and the way you touch me…” 

Oromë groaned, burying his face in Celegorm’s shoulder as Celegorm dug his fingers into Oromë’s hair. “ _Jesus_. I’m remembering why I always found it so hard to say no to you.” 

“Good.” Celegorm pulled himself forward, straddling Oromë’s lap, kissing him hard, hands wrapping over his broad back. “I want you so fuckin’ bad. I’ve been wanting you for a year now, Christ.” 

“Always so wild,” whispered Oromë, hands tight on Celegorm’s hips. “Over-eager…” 

Celegorm laughed breathlessly down at him. “That’s right. What are you gonna do about it, Coach?” He ground down against Oromë’s groin. “You gonna make me behave?” 

“Tyelkormo,” Oromë growled, and Celegorm shuddered at the low rumble of his voice. “Will you never let me simply make love to you?” 

Celegorm rested his forehead against Oromë’s and closed his eyes, still laughing as Oromë pulled him close. “Fine then,” he breathed into Oromë’s ear. “Whatever you want. Fuck me, make love to me, take me however you want me…I’m yours.”

 

-

 

Outside the bedroom door, the great wolfhound paced back and forth slowly, then circled and flopped down with a sigh, resting its head on its front paws. In the stillness of the hall, a clock ticked.

In the bedroom, the ceiling fan whirred lightly, brushing cool air over Celegorm's sweaty bare skin. 

“Fuck,” he said, sprawled breathless across the bed. “Fuck, I missed that."

On the floor, somewhere in the pile of his discarded clothes, his cell phone buzzed, unheeded.

Celegorm laid his head against his forearms, satisfaction like a warm hum in his veins. "You have lost none of your skill, Coach. Goddamn, though,” he shifted, wincing. “I forgot how big you are.” 

Oromë, who was lying beside him and watching him with open appreciation, stroked a hand down his back. “Sorry about that. I hope – ” 

Celegorm rolled over and pinned Oromë to the mattress, laughing down at him. “ _Never_ apologize for that, you fucker, it’s perfection.” He kissed Oromë fiercely and knotted his hands in his hair. “I’m going to make you do it again, just as soon as I get a second wind.”

 

* * *

 

 

Celegorm breezed into Aredhel’s kitchen as she was preparing vegetables for dinner. 

She jumped as he swung himself onto the stool on the other side of the counter from her. “You nearly gave me a heart attack. How’d you get in here?” 

He dangled a set of keys in front of her. “From back when there was a still a ‘with benefits’ tacked onto our friendship.” 

She made a grab for the keys but he yanked them out of her reach, grinning. 

“I’m going to have to get the locks changed,” she said, returning to her chopping. “Damn, Tyelko, you know I like to cook naked half the time.” 

“I know,” he said, waggling his eyebrows. “One of my favorite things about you, and a great incentive for me to come over unannounced. Even if it’s just to laugh when you spatter hot oil on your – ” 

“That was one time,” she said. “I have an apron I wear when I sauté, now.” 

He propped his hand on his chin and smiled fondly. 

Aredhel glanced at him and chuckled. “You are in _far_ too good a mood. What’s the occasion?” 

“The occasion, dear child, is that I actually took your advice for once.” 

She thought, brow wrinkling. “You wore a shirt when you went to your job interview?” 

“What? No, don’t talk crazy, I skipped that.” 

“You finally stopped your incessant flirting with my brother.” 

“You and Nelyo are such broken records. That’s _tradition_ now. Findekáno and I have an understanding.”

“Then I dunno, man, sounds like you aren’t listening to me at all, as per usual.” 

“Not so,” he said, and taking her hand, pressed a kiss to it. “Guess who I talked to yesterday?” 

“Your mother,” she said, then shook her head. “No, what am I thinking, it’s not the fifteenth yet.”

“Stop obsessing over my flaws. They’re endearing and you know it. And anyway,” he tugged hard on her hand, “I stopped by Oromë’s house.” 

She laid down the knife and gaped at him. “Seriously?” 

“Seriously.” 

“How’d it go?” 

“Well, I went over there yesterday evening…” 

“And?”

“And I just left this afternoon.” He stretched his arms smugly over his head and grinned at her. 

“You _dog_.”

“That was one of many positions, yes.” 

“So wait, what does this mean? Are you two back together?” 

“We’re ‘starting over’,” Celegorm quoted. “Fortunately, starting over doesn’t mean we have to go all the way back to first base.” 

“I wasn’t aware you knew there _was_ a first base,” said Aredhel, but she was grinning too. “Are you happy?” 

“You don’t know the half of it.” He hummed. “Ireth, let me tell you, his cock – ” 

“Nope.” Aredhel raised the knife warningly. “No cock talk. Boy, do I not need the details.” 

“Aw, c’mon, you’re the only one I can talk to!” 

“Tough,” she said, returning to the vegetables. “I do not need to know about his dick. You don’t hear me going on about Elenwë’s vagina.” 

Celegorm’s eyes shone. “My dearest Irissë, I would be delighted to hear about Elenwë’s vagina.” He leaned close. “Spare no details.” 

“I would sooner castrate you,” said Aredhel. “And will. Hang on, I’m the only one you can talk to? Does that mean…” 

“Oh, right,” said Celegorm. “Still a secret. Can’t tell anyone. I’ll have to kill you if you spill the beans, and all that.” 

“Tyelko.” 

“What?” 

“You and your brothers are all hyper-involved in each other’s lives,” said Aredhel exasperatedly. “You know everything about each other. You really think you can pull this off without them noticing?” 

“I slept with him for six months without anyone knowing,” said Celegorm. “I think I’ll be okay.” 

“You were in college then, you lived in the dorms, half your brothers weren’t even around...” 

“It’ll be fine.” 

“They’ll have questions.” 

“I’ll have artfully constructed answers.” 

“You couldn’t artfully construct beans.” 

“Ye of little faith. I’m an _expert_ bullshitter.” 

Aredhel conceded the point. “But you’re not even going to tell Curvo? I thought you two were close.” 

For the first time, Celegorm looked uncomfortable. “Yeah, but… He probably wouldn’t understand. He already hates Oromë, anyway.” 

“Really?” asked Aredhel curiously. “Why?” 

“He blames him for my injury,” said Celegorm. “Which is, in a roundabout way, astute of him.” 

“Yeah, the kid’s very astute,” said Aredhel. “He’s as sharp as your dad and just as scary. You think he won’t figure it out? And Maitimo watches you all like a hawk.” 

“Irissë. You’re ruining my afterglow.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, and managed to look contrite. “I’m…happy you’re happy.” 

“Makalaurë would call that a cliché.” 

“Okay. I’m happy you’re getting boned again.” 

“That’s more like it,” said Celegorm, and swooped over the counter to kiss her swiftly on the lips.

Aredhel laughed. “I’ll break out the guac and tequila. Fair’s fair, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. If it seems like Celegorm and Oromë are taking over this story, it's only because they are. I've been trying to give each character/pairing/conflict a couple chapters to play out, more or less, but these two gave me more than I could satisfactorily resolve in two chapters. So...more to come. But I promise I haven't forgotten the rest of the gang!


	8. Guilty filthy soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The things he doesn't tell you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Gets a lot more graphic. And soap opera-y.  
> 1\. I’m sorry Celegorm/Oromë’s arc has kind of eaten this story. I didn’t mean it. It just happened. But look! Curufin gets an actual role!

“When was the last time you saw Tyelkormo?” 

Curufin looked up from his book. Maedhros was standing in his doorway, a faint frown on his face. Behind him, across the hall, a door gaped open onto Celegorm’s dark bedroom. 

“Probably that night we got takeout with Aunt Lalwen,” said Curufin, after thinking for a minute. 

Maedhros sighed, folding his arms and leaning against the doorway. “That’s what I thought. It’s been two days. I don’t think he’s even been home to sleep.” 

Curufin made a disinterested noise, eyes flickering back to his book. “Perhaps he’s been with Irissë.” 

“I already thought of that,” said Maedhros. “But I just texted her, and she and Elenwë have been down on the coast for the past five days.” 

“Here’s a novel idea,” said Curufin. “Try texting _Tyelkormo_.” 

Maedhros shot him an annoyed look. “I _have_. And called.” 

“Well, you’ve done all you can,” said Curufin, coolly, returning to his reading. “Now you can feel you’ve fulfilled your brotherly duties and go back to whatever it is you do when you’re not pretending to parent us.” 

He didn’t look up, but knew the flash of anger Maedhros would be trying to keep from his face, and waited for the intake of breath that was him biting back a sharp response. He smirked as Maedhros let out a breath, and said, tightly. “Fine. Let me know if you hear from him, will you?” 

“Mm,” Curufin said noncommittally, and Maedhros left, pulling the door shut behind him. 

Curufin waited a moment, then lowered his book, eyes flicking to his own phone. _Where have you been, Tyelko?_ he thought, feeling a surge of anxiety and frustration. _What are you hiding from me?_  

He picked up his phone and flicked through his outgoing calls, all to Celegorm. He curled his lip, annoyed. _Don't make me beg, you bastard._ He hit ‘Call’ one more time. 

He was not holding his breath for Celegorm to pick up, he wasn’t, he wasn’t, he wasn’t – 

“Yo.” 

Curufin exhaled. 

“Where _are_ you?” 

“Hey to you too, little brother.” Celegorm’s voice was amused, if a bit distracted. “What’s up?” 

Curufin drummed his fingers against his chair. “We haven’t seen you in days. Where have you been?” 

Celegorm snorted. “What, am I out past curfew? Did Nelyo make you honorary Den Mother or something?” 

“Are you staying with someone?” 

Celegorm blew a sigh down the line. “I am out taking advantage of my youth and good looks, and, if you must know,” he lowered his voice, “exploring said youth and good looks with an _insanely_ foxy chick.” 

Curufin chewed his lip. “Is that so.” 

“Yeah. So if you’ll excuse me, she’s coming back, and I don’t need you cock-blocking me from afar…” 

“Will you be home tonight?” 

“ _God_ , Curvo, you sound just like dad. It’s creepy. _No_ , I won’t be home tonight.” He broke off, and when he spoke again, his voice was a little breathless. “But I’ll…I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” 

Curufin nodded, though of course Celegorm couldn’t see him, and hung up without a word. He was still a while, gazing into space. 

_He’s lying._

 

* * *

 

 

“ ‘Foxy chick’? Was that necessary?” 

Celegorm tossed his phone across the room and grinned down at Oromë. “What? It was subterfuge. I’d be offended that no one believes that I can be sneaky, except that it makes really good cover.” 

Oromë ran his hands up Celegorm’s thighs to his hips, and gazed up at him. Celegorm was straddling him, strong legs tight around Oromë’s waist. Celegorm leaned down, his shaggy hair falling into his eyes, bracing his hands on Oromë’s broad chest. 

“Would you rather I tell him the truth?” he purred. “That I’ve spent the last two nights in my former coach’s bed? That I’ve got him spread out naked beneath me at this very moment… That he’s still inside me as we speak?” He rocked his hips teasingly, and Oromë’s fingers dug into his hard waist. 

“Tyelko…” 

Celegorm bared his teeth delightedly at the low groan he pulled from Oromë. “Yeah?” 

“You’re too much for me.” 

“Never. You can’t get enough of me.” 

“True.” Oromë sat up, the movement making Celegorm give a hiss of pleasure, and caught Celegorm tight around the waist. He tugged him over easily, rolling him to the sheets, and Celegorm closed his eyes, reveling in the feeling of being moved around like he weighed nothing at all. 

“Have I told you how much I fucking love your body?” he asked, gasping a little as Oromë began to move steadily into him. “Jesus, Oromë, I can bench 290 but you could fucking break me in half. I love your back, I love your shoulders, I love your legs, fuck, I love your ass, I love how you fuck me until I can’t speak, I – ” 

“I must not be doing a very good job just now,” murmured Oromë, catching Celegorm’s lips in a kiss and stopping the flow of words. “Have you always been this talkative in bed?” 

“I know what it does to you,” said Celegorm, grinning even as his fingers dug grooves into Oromë’s back. “I know you like to hear me describe how I want to be fucked, how I want you to press so deep into me I almost black out, how – oh _fuck_.” 

He reached back and gripped the slatted headboard, bracing himself against Oromë’s thrusts. “Oh fuck, yes, just like that, harder, c’mon Coach, give it to me…” 

“You have a filthy mouth, Tyelkormo,” said Oromë, and stopped it with an open-mouthed kiss that left Celegorm breathless.

 

* * *

 

 

“Did you ever hear from Tyelko?” Maedhros looked up as Curufin came down the stairs. He was working on washing a week’s collected pile of dirty dishes, while Maglor dried them and hummed beside him. 

“No,” said Curufin, making for the front hall. 

“Were you working on something?” called Maglor. “You’ve been buried in your computer all evening.” 

“Research,” said Curufin absently, grabbing his jacket. 

“Are you going somewhere?” 

“Jesus, mom and dad, lay off the kid,” said Caranthir, from the living room, where he was watching TV. “You two are the worst.” 

Maedhros and Maglor glanced at each other sheepishly, and Curufin took the opportunity to slip out the front door. 

He checked his phone only once, to verify the address. 

Not far. 

It was only thirty minutes before he was standing by the driveway, reading the last name painted on the mailbox. A twist of satisfaction and anger stirred in his stomach as he spotted a familiar bike tipped up against the side of the house. 

He’d been right. 

He made his way up the path to the front door, telling himself it was irritation, not nerves, that had his heart beating faster. He pulled on his coolest indifferent mask, and knocked.

 

* * *

“Was that the door?” 

Celegorm groaned and pulled on Oromë’s neck. “No. C’mon, I’m so close…” 

But Oromë had stilled, listening. The knock came again. 

“Christ,” said Celegorm, throwing himself back on the pillows. “If it’s just some ancient neighbor asking to borrow a cup of sugar, I’m gonna go apeshit.” 

Oromë pulled himself gently free of Celegorm’s arms and rose, grabbing his robe from the back of the door. “I’ll be back.”

“If you take longer than five minutes I’m finishing without you,” called Celegorm after him, dropping an arm over his eyes. “What fucking timing.”

 

* * *

 

Curufin almost stepped back when the door opened. He’d forgotten how _big_ Celegorm’s coach was. He filled nearly the whole doorway, and it was hard not to feel intimidated, staring up at that powerful figure. But the amber eyes, as they gazed down at him, were mild and a little confused. 

“Can I help you?” 

“Coach Aldaron.” Curufin was pleased that his voice was even and cool. 

“Yes.” Oromë’s brows drew together quizzically as he frowned.  “And you are?”

Curufin didn’t answer him directly. “I’m here to see my brother.” He smiled briefly, a flash of sharp white teeth in the darkness. “I believe he is here.”

 

* * *

 

Celegorm rolled over as Oromë came back into the room, and grinned up at him, letting the sheets slide from his naked body. “Good timing. I was about to start back up without – ” 

“It’s for you,” said Oromë quietly. 

Celegorm raised an eyebrow. “What? It’s a bit late for the UPS guy, Oromë.” 

“It’s not the UPS guy,” said Oromë, and his face was inscrutable. “It’s your brother.”

“My – What?” Celegorm sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Are you serious? Which one?” 

“He didn’t say.”

Celegorm swore and reached down to grab his jeans from the floor. “It’s not a tall redhead, is it?” 

“No…”

“Well, that’s something.” Celegorm jerked his jeans over his hips and raked a distracted hand through his wild hair. “Fuck. Okay, I’ll be right back. Hopefully.”

 

* * *

Curufin leaned lightly against the doorframe, waiting, having refused Oromë’s invitation to come in. He straightened up slightly as he saw his brother coming down the hall, bare-chested and with his hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, his face a mixture of anger and apprehension. 

“Curvo?” Celegorm pulled up short, staring. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

“That’s what I came to ask you,” said Curufin, pinning him with a look. “What are _you_ doing here, Turkafinwë?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Celegorm’s face darkened. “Did you _track_ me here?” 

“It wasn’t that hard,” said Curufin. “You’re incurably careless. You always have been.” 

“Why the – ” 

“Why are you sleeping with him again?” demanded Curufin.

“ ‘Again’? What do you – ” 

“Please.” Curufin waved a dismissive hand. “I know you slept with him in college.” 

“How?” 

Curufin growled. “Because I am much, much smarter than you, Turko, and I _know you._ ” 

Celegorm’s eyes flashed. “All right then, good for you, you’ve figured it out. Now why the _fuck_ are you here?” 

“Why are you?” Curufin stood upright, meeting Celegorm’s furious gaze. “How _stupid_ are you? How can you trust a man like this, someone who – ” 

“Because I do,” snarled Celegorm. “And beyond that, Curvo, it is _none of your fucking business_.” 

“It is,” said Curufin, clenching his jaw. “You’re my brother, and – ” 

“What, are you looking out for me?” Celegorm gave a bark of laughter. “That’s adorable, Curvo, but really,” his eyes were merciless now, “you shouldn’t have.” 

“He’s just going to hurt you again,” snapped Curufin. “He manipulated and abused you before, and now – ” 

“Before? What the fuck do you know? What do you know about any of it?” 

“I know you ended up in the hospital,” hissed Curufin. “I know you ended up with a shattered leg, and the end of your athletic career.” 

Celegorm clenched his fists and pressed closer and Curufin felt a surge of anger that his brother was still able to loom over him. “That,” he said quietly, “was my own fucking fault.” 

“It was because of him,” said Curufin, “you did it because of him. He makes you crazy, Turko, he messes with you, he – ” 

But Celegorm was laughing, a harsh, cruel sound. “Oh, Curvo,” he said, and gave a smile that was more than half snarl. “You deluded, self-obsessed little fucker. Listen,” he leaned close, bracing one hand on the doorframe by Curufin’s head, “you are nothing but a pathetic fucking _eighteen year old kid_. And yeah, I treat you like a friend because I get a kick out of you, but we are _not_ ,” he bared his teeth, “equals. And you don’t know what the _fuck_ you’re talking about.” He leaned back, face set in a cold smile, even as fire snapped furiously in his eyes. “Now get the fuck out of here.” 

Curufin laughed, because to do anything else would hurt too much. He turned and set off down the path, Celegorm framed in the doorway behind him. 

“Very well. Best of luck, _brother_. Oh, but Turko?” He looked over his shoulder then, a vicious smile on his lips. “You should know – he has a wife.” 

And with that he turned and vanished into the darkness, leaving Celegorm a silent silhouette against the light streaming from the house.


	9. Scared to love what we love most

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chickens come home to roost. Both in terms of fallout and in terms of two redheaded chickens. And by chickens I mean teenage twin scoundrels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Warnings for the two most difficult sons of Fëanor being cruel to each other.  
> 1\. Don’t worry, we also return to Fëanorion family fun!banter (as opposed to mean!banter).

Curufin didn’t fall asleep until just before dawn, and then Celegorm woke him just after it. 

“Tell me why you said what you did.” 

Curufin blinked sleep from his eyes, pulling himself swiftly into wakefulness.

Celegorm was kneeling over him, his hair hanging into his face, shadows dark under his eyes. He looked a little mad. 

Curufin pushed himself up, refusing to be intimidated, and folded his arms as he leaned back against his pillows. “I’m impressed. This is very early for you.” 

“Don’t fuck with me. Tell me why you said that.” 

“Were you finding it difficult to sleep?” 

Celegorm let out a snarl and wrapped a hand around Curufin’s wrist, jerking him close. “ _Tell me_.” 

Curufin laughed breathlessly, looking up at his brother. “I take it this means you didn’t ask _him_.” 

Celegorm clenched his jaw, but his grip loosened slightly on Curufin’s wrist. “No.”

“Mm. I wonder if it was hard for you to finish the evening’s…activities, with that hanging over you.” Something bright and anguished came into Celegorm’s eyes at that, and Curufin knew he had struck close to the mark. 

“Let me guess. You refused to tell him anything, pushed him into rough sex, picked a fight, and then lay awake all night, staring at his sleeping form, wondering how many times he’s lied to you…” 

Celegorm sat back on his heels and gave a rough laugh. “Fuck, you are such a creepy kid.” 

“I’m right, aren’t I.” 

Celegorm buried his face in his hands, fingers digging into his hair. “Just _tell_ me what you know, Curvo.” 

“He’s married.” 

“So you said,” Celegorm looked at him, and the dull resignation in his face pricked Curufin’s conscience more than his anger. “How do you _know_?” 

“Because I know how to use the internet, Turko.” Curufin sighed, and kicked until Celegorm slid back to the foot of the bed and Curufin could swing his feet to the floor. He padded over to his desk and grabbed his laptop. 

“Look.” He pulled up the various pages he’d found the night before. “Wedding announcement. Wedding registry. Brief write-up in the local paper.” As Celegorm stared, Curufin shook his head. “Honestly, you’re hopeless. You could have found this with a google search in a matter of minutes.” 

“I never thought to.” Celegorm’s eyes were fixed on the computer screen. 

“Stupid.” 

“Vána Young.” Celegorm spoke the name like it was cutting into his tongue. “Who the fuck is she?” 

“A reporter.” Curufin pulled the computer back and opened up his history. “An international correspondent for Al Jazeera, in fact. She writes about climate impacts in the Middle East. She’s actually pretty good, I was reading some of her stuff.” 

“I don’t give a shit if she’s good,” said Celegorm violently.

Curufin closed the computer carefully. “So he’s never said anything about her? You never saw any sign – ?” 

“Obviously not.” 

Curufin looked at him shrewdly. “Would you still have slept with him?” 

“Probably,” Celegorm said, and drove his fist against the mattress. “They must be divorced, or separated or something. The internet wouldn’t tell you _that_ , would it?” 

“No,” said Curufin slowly and opened the computer again. “But there’s a picture of them, look, at a press fundraiser just a year ago. You were still in school then, right? So wouldn’t that mean – ” 

“Shut up,” said Celegorm. “Stop it. I don’t want to hear about it, I don’t want to know, fuck, fuck, _fuck_ …” 

Curufin looked up and saw Celegorm slumping forward, elbows on his knees, face in his hands. His powerful frame seemed to shrink, and Curufin felt a bite of discomfort. Celegorm had never been anything but larger than life, bold and brash and laughing, ferocious and quick-tempered and crude – he was never small. He was never diminished. 

 _Except…_  

Except for that day when he’d come with his parents into that hospital room and seen Celegorm lying there. Bruises stood out lividly against his pale skin, and his leg was in traction, but it was the agony on his face that had rendered him practically unrecognizable. He looked almost small, then, and painfully young. Vulnerable. 

Diminished.

And out in the waiting room, there was that great, quiet figure, his head bent as he spoke quietly to their father, looming over Fëanor in a way that very few men could do. 

 _This was_ his _fault_ , Curufin had thought, in a sudden, savage burst of certainty. _He is the reason Turkafinwë has torn himself to pieces on the field._ Him. 

And so he pushed the guilt down and fixed his attention on his brother, slumped on the edge of his bed. 

“I told you,” he couldn’t stop himself from saying. “I told you he would hurt you. He  has already hurt you, and lied to you, and now – ” 

“Shut up.” 

“I’m just – ” 

“ _Shut up_.” Celegorm raised his face, ravaged and feral. “Don’t think I don’t know the pleasure you’re taking in this. You just _love_ being able to rub my face in it. Just because you don’t give a shit, just because you’re incapable of feeling anything, just because you don’t give a shit about sex or love or _anything_ – ” 

“That’s not true,” said Curufin, taking a step back. It was true that he _didn’t_ give a shit about sex, but what did that have to do with anything, much less love? 

“You think just because you’re incapable of it everyone else should be just like you,” snarled Celegorm, and Curufin flinched back from the fury on his face. “What would make you happy, Curvo? Me being a celibate fucking monk like you are, a pathetic fucking virgin who doesn’t care about anything except being _right..._ ” 

“You don’t know anything,” Curufin said sharply. “You don’t know what you’re – Shut _up_ , Turko.” 

“Don’t call me that,” spat Celegorm. “Only dad calls me that. Stop trying to _be_ him, stop trying to control my fucking life, just like he does, you twisted little shit.” 

“I’m not – ” 

“Do you not get it?” said Celegorm, leaning forward and catching his chin roughly in one hand. “Just because you don’t _care_ about anyone but yourself that doesn’t mean you can keep the rest of us from loving.” 

Curufin wrenched away, furious. “I _do_ care!” 

“Like hell.” Celegorm watched him mercilessly. “You don’t care about anything, you little sociopath.” 

“I care about you!” 

The words rang out into the room, and Curufin froze, feeling the color rise in his cheeks. Celegorm stilled, and Curufin turned away, humiliated, balling his fists at his side. 

“Curvo.”

“Get out.” He said it quietly. “Just leave, Tur – Tyelko. I don’t want to talk to you anymore.” 

“Curvo.” Footsteps crossed the room and a hand came down on his shoulder tentatively. “I’m sorry.” 

“I told you to get out.” 

“Look at me.” Celegorm tugged him around. “Shit. I know you care, Curvo. I was just…I was being cruel.” 

“You meant it, though.”

“No, I didn’t. I was being an asshole because you…kinda tore me up and spit me out. And we’re too fucking alike. When I get savaged I just want to tear right back. I wanted to hurt you as bad as I was hurting.” 

“You were going to defend him,” said Curufin and looked at his brother at last. “After all that – you were going to defend him. I could feel it.” 

Celegorm laughed, all sharp edges and broken glass. “Yeah. Because I love him.” 

“ _Why?_ ” His voice came out louder than he intended it, and he blinked furiously. 

“What on _earth_ is going on in here?” The door was yanked open and Maglor stood there, tousle-haired and half dressed. “I could hear you yelling all the way down the hall, what – Tyelko? When did you get back?” 

“Just now,” said Celegorm weakly, and straightened up. “I should…get to bed though, Makalaurë, I’m wiped…” 

But Maglor blocked the door. “What happened? Why are you two fighting?” 

“Nothing,” said Curufin smoothly, wiping all emotion from his face effortlessly. “We had an argument about something stupid, but we resolved it. Don’t hover, Káno.” 

Maglor looked unconvinced, but too tired to press further. “You know mom’s going to be here in like an hour to drop the twins off.” 

“I forgot.” Celegorm stretched wearily, exhaustion painting every line of his body. 

 _If you hadn’t been gone for five days out of the past week, you might have remembered_ , Curufin thought, but bit the words back. 

“Okay,” said Maglor, watching Celegorm thoughtfully. “I’ll wake you in an hour, yeah?” 

“Sure.” Celegorm sloped out of the room, casting one last glance back at Curufin. Curufin looked away. 

Maglor turned his attention to Curufin. “I know you won’t tell me anything about what that was,” he said, as Curufin opened his mouth to tell him to leave. “But just…is he okay?” 

“He will be,” said Curufin, and crossed the room to shut the door in his brother’s face. 

_He just needs to learn how to stop loving that man._

* * *

 

Curufin came downstairs an hour later to find Maedhros and Maglor standing close together, talking in low voices. 

“I said I’d wake him, but honestly, Maitimo, he looked like hell.” 

“Should we let him sleep?” 

“Mom’s going to want to see him, you know she jokes that this is her only chance to lay eyes on all of us.” 

“Do you think – ” 

They broke off as Curufin crossed into the kitchen. “Has anyone thought to make coffee?” 

Maedhros pointed. “There.” 

Curufin poured himself a cup and leaned against the counter, drinking it black as he listened to his brothers’ murmured conversation. 

“Do you have any clue where he’s been?” 

“No. But that’s not unusual. Remember when he vanished for a week in March and it turned out he was hiking the Presidentials with just a fannypack because some teammate of his made a bet?” 

“Mablung.” Maedhros scowled. “Not ‘some teammate’, that same damned kid who – anyway. But yes, that’s exactly why I worry. He could have died of exposure out there.” 

“As if. He came back having _gained_ weight. He’s a force of nature, Maitimo.” 

There was a crunching of tires on gravel outside, and Maedhros and Maglor looked up. 

“They’re here,” said Curufin, and sipped his coffee. 

“Káno, go wake – ” 

“No need.” Celegorm was standing in the doorway in fresh clothes, his hair pulled back. He still looked tired, but he smiled as he propped himself against the kitchen table. “Look, I even beat Carnistir down here.” 

Caranthir slouched into the kitchen as he spoke, scowling and in sweatpants. “It is the asscrack of dawn,” he said bitterly. “ _Why_ do they need the full welcome wagon?” 

“It’s for mom,” said Maedhros, and pulled open the door. 

Nerdanel laughed as she came into the house and saw her five sons waiting for her. “My brood! Awake and dressed, even!” She pulled Maedhros down until she could kiss him on the cheek. “Hello, lovely. I see you’ve been keeping them all in one piece.” 

“More or less.” 

“Come here, you bandits. Give me a kiss.” They drew around her, folding her into hugs and letting her scrutinize each of them in turn. 

“Makalaurë, thank you for sending me that recording, it’s just what I needed in the studio. Tell Daeron his use of theremin is…unique. Moryo, you cut your hair! I like it. Very, ah, angular. Atarinkë, dear heart, congratulations on the summer fellowship. Your father and I are so proud. Tyelko,” she paused, taking his face between her hands, “you look strong. Still running with Irissë? But, love, you look so tired. Have you been getting enough sleep?” 

“I’m fine, Ma,” said Celegorm, bending down to kiss her. “Where are the demons?” 

“They’re – ” 

The door banged open and the twins streamed into the house, arguing vociferously. “It wasn’t a garter snake, are you nuts? The pattern was all wrong.” 

“Well, if you hadn’t jumped and screamed like a banshee we could have _caught_ it, douche canoe, and then we’d know, wouldn’t we?” 

“Oh, sure, and if it turned out to be venomous, that would be _grand_ , huh?” 

“Demons!” said Celegorm loudly, and held out his arms. “My god, you look terrible.” 

They leapt on him then, pulling his hair as he laughed and rocked back under their assault. 

“Quick, Pityo, find the snake, put it down his shirt.” 

“Couldn’t do that to a poor little snake, Telvo, what if it bit him? It’d probably die…” 

Celegorm pulled Amrod off with one hand while Amras hung onto his other arm. “Help, Moryo, take this one.” 

“Nope,” said Caranthir, and yawned. “Make Curvo do it.” 

“I have coffee,” said Curufin hurriedly, holding his mug before him like a shield. 

“Wouldn’t be a fair fight, anyway,” said Caranthir speculatively. “Damn, Ambarussa, you’re as tall as Curvo now.” 

Curufin glowered, but the twins grinned, pleased. “Dad says he bets we’ll pass Tyelko next.” 

“Good luck, you little shits,” said Celegorm, and caught his mother’s eye. “ ’scuse my language. You could get as tall as Nelyo, I’m still going to be able to juggle with you brats.” 

“Hah!” Amras leapt up and attempted to put him in a chokehold, but Celegorm just straightened up and tossed him over one shoulder. 

“Valiant attempt, sweet child, but no dice.” 

“You wait,” said Amrod, from across the room, where he’d perched on the counter next to Curufin and was stealing sips of his coffee. “Did mom tell you? We’re trying out for the club rugby team.” 

“I’ve tried to use you as a cautionary tale,” said Nerdanel, who was leaning against Maedhros and watching the proceedings with fond exasperation. “To no avail.” 

Curufin shot a look at Celegorm. His brother’s expressive face had closed off, and he lowered Amras carefully to the floor. 

“That so?” 

“Yeah!” Amrod kicked his feet against the cabinets and leaned one elbow on Curufin’s shoulder. “We’ll be able to take you on soon enough, Tyelko.” 

“It’s a good thing you’ve never had that many brain cells to start with,” said Curufin, and snagged his coffee cup back from his younger brother. “Say hello to near weekly concussions.” 

“Explains a lot about Tyelko,” said Caranthir, grinning. 

“But yeah,” said Amras, socking Celegorm lightly on the bicep. “We wanted to ask you – what was the name of your coach? He used to play professionally, right? Think he could give us any tips?” 

“Do you want to stay for breakfast?” Maglor broke in, turning to Nerdanel, and Curufin saw Celegorm exhale slowly. “We’ve got pancake batter in the fridge, and Moryo can actually make decent scrambled eggs these days.” 

“I make _great_ scrambled eggs,” corrected Caranthir. “You like Sriracha, right Ma?” 

“I’m afraid I can’t stay,” said Nerdanel, sighing and squeezing Maglor’s hand. “The gallery needs me in – ” she held up her wrist to eye her watch, “ _merde_ , thirty minutes.” 

“When’s the exhibit?” asked Maedhros, holding the door for her as she picked up her bag and keys and the rest of her sons trooped outside behind her. 

“Next week, barring any catastrophes,” said Nerdanel. “And considering that there’s a rumor going around that Aulë himself will be there for opening night, I’m sure karma has something wicked in store for me. A broken statue, at the very least…” 

“It’ll be great,” said Maedhros. “We’ll all be there, and – ” 

“ – and we’ll keep Ambarussa on leashes to make sure nothing gets broken,” said Caranthir. 

“Be good, all of you,” said Nerdanel, smiling, and dispensing final kisses. “Ambarto – where are you? You and your brother behave yourselves, okay?” 

“What are you talking about, mom? We’re the most mature of the lot.” 

“No buying beer for them,” Nerdanel hissed, and narrowed her eyes at Celegorm and Caranthir, who both attempted looks of hurt shock. 

“Mother – ” 

“We’d _never_ – ”

“Don’t give me that look, I know you both too well. They’re fifteen, you’re not allowed to buy them booze until they’re at least eighteen. Maitimo, Makalaurë, don’t be afraid to – ” 

“Use corporal punishment?” said Maedhros alertly. “I’m on it.” 

“Exactly what I was going to say,” said Nerdanel, and smiled. She stretched up for one last hug and whispered, “Give my love to Findekáno.” As he looked down at her gratefully, she turned to the others. “I love you all. Take care of yourselves. Atarinkë, my beauty – let yourself have some fun, all right?” 

She waved as she pulled out of the driveway, and they waved back. 

“I had seven of you for a reason!” she called. “Look out for each other.” 

“We’ll try,” said Maedhros, and pulled the twins close, one against each side. 

Curufin shot a sidelong glance at Celegorm, who was leaning against the side of the house, exhaustion settling once more onto his face. 

_I’m trying._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. I know that making Vana a journalist doesn’t actually transpose from her role amongst the Valar. But frankly I get bored of the female Valar being consigned to growing things/sewing things/crying. There’s only so much you can translate that to in a modern context (they can’t ALL be professors of biology/grief counselors). So I’m going to say that Vana writes on environmental impacts pertaining to climate change in the Fertile Crescent. And fear not, she shall not be demonized as the evil wife who Comes Between Our Boys. I like her way too much for that nonsense.


	10. These mornings don't last long

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everything is totally plot-driven and not at all gratuitous (ahem) and we meet some of Celegorm's former teammates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. I endeavor to write plot. I do. But every time Fingon and Maedhros stray into my story I’m just like, “But wait. Consider this: Sex.”  
> 1\. I’m finally expanding my band of characters beyond Finwions. Gasp.

 The sun streamed in through the open window, and outside the birds were singing. It was truly an idyllic Sunday morning, Fingon thought sleepily, rolling over to spoon up behind Maedhros. Perfect for sleeping in and – 

The door banged open and two speeding blurs leapt onto the bed. 

“Jesus Christ!” Fingon ducked defensively as two lanky, redheaded figures landed on his feet. “What the _hell_.” 

Maedhros simply turned over without opening his eyes, and reached out a long arm. He seized one of the invaders by the scruff of the neck and shook him lightly. “Ambarussa. Get. Out.” 

“Aw, c’mon, Nelyo, you never see us.” 

“You’ve missed us, you know it.” 

“Aren’t teenagers supposed to sleep in on weekends?” Maedhros cracked an eye and glowered. 

“I think you’ve been misinformed.” 

“You must be thinking of _losers_ , Nelyo.” 

“Hey, Finno. Nice hair.” 

Fingon pulled the blankets over his head. “How long have I been asleep? Did I somehow wake up twenty years in the future? Are these our children, Maitimo? _What is happening?_ ” 

Maedhros sat up and tossed Amras easily off the bed. Amrod dodged the grab Maedhros made for him and pinched his feet through the blankets in retaliation. 

“OUT!” 

Amrod made a face. “Rude.” 

Amras lay on the floor and crossed his arms. “See if we ever make _you_ breakfast in bed, ass-face.” 

“You never make anyone breakfast in bed,” said Maedhros, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And _no_ , don’t even think about starting, I don’t trust you with a stove.” 

“That was one time, dude, get over it.” 

“Dad said the fumes weren’t even toxic.” 

Maedhros buried his face in his hands. “Just leave, please. We’ll be up in an hour, okay?” 

“Ooooh.” 

“An hour? An hour of sweet lovemaking?” 

“Tyelko says if it takes that long you’re doing something wrong.” 

“Hah,” said Fingon, from under the covers. 

“ _Leave_.” 

“Going! We’re going already. Geez.” 

The twins trooped out and slammed the door behind them. 

Fingon lay still, shell-shocked. Maedhros gazed down at him apologetically. “Sorry about that.” 

“You couldn’t have warned me the demons were in town?” 

“I tried to tell you last night, but you didn’t seem much interested in talking.” 

“Yes, well, I had only two things on my mind.” Fingon grinned. “And one of them was sleep.” 

Maedhros brushed his knuckles lightly against Fingon’s cheek. “I can’t believe you were working until midnight again. On a Saturday.” 

Fingon rolled over to tuck his face against Maedhros’ shoulder. “Whose fault is that?” 

“Your father’s?” 

“ _Yours_.” Fingon groaned. “I never would have been promoted if you hadn’t resigned.” 

“You know I had to, Finno, it wouldn’t have been – ” 

“I know, I know.” Fingon sighed. “Anyway.” 

Maedhros kissed him to distract from the old argument being dredged up, and Fingon gave a happy murmur and wrapped his arms around his waist, rolling him over onto his back. “An hour, you told them?” 

“55 minutes, now.” 

“Pedant.” Fingon kissed Maedhros’ neck, making him shudder under him. “I’ll use 45 and allow ten minutes for cuddling.” 

“I don’t know if I’ll even last 45,” murmured Maedhros, as Fingon nudged his thighs apart. “Finno…” 

“Mmm?” 

“Did you ask if Ambarussa were our _children_?” 

“It was a joke, Maitimo,” said Fingon, wrapping his fingers into Maedhros’ hair and tugging his head back. His lips brushed Maedhros’ throat again.

“Do you actually think that in twenty years we might have two fifteen year olds?” 

“Jesus,” said Fingon, and bit at Maedhros’ ear. “I must not be doing a very good job here if that’s what you’re asking me about.” 

“I’m intrigued about other things, too,” said Maedhros, catching his breath as Fingon tugged one of his legs up around his waist. “Like - _ah_ \- what your other hand is doing. But – ” 

“Of course we could have two kids in twenty years,” said Fingon, as Maedhros’ fingers dug into his back. “If we get married in the next five, we’ll have plenty of time to find a surrogate or adopt before you even qualify as an Old Dad.” 

“I’m only three years older than you.” 

“And your biological clock is ticking,” said Fingon briskly, doing something with his hand that made Maedhros gasp and buck against him. “ _Focus_ , Maitimo. I’m trying to accomplish something here.” 

“I just didn’t know if you actually thought about us that way,” whispered Maedhros, and Fingon paused, gazing down at him with affection. 

“Oh, _Maitimo_. My giant, beautiful idiot.” He leaned down and kissed him softly. “I’ve fantasized about my spending my life with you since I was seventeen years old. How could you not know this about me, after all these years?” 

“I thought, maybe, after – ” 

Fingon touched his cheek. “It was just one semester. We got back together.” 

Maedhros closed his eyes. “I thought maybe you still didn’t trust me.” 

“I trust you,” murmured Fingon, and started to move again, making Maedhros bite his lip to hold back a sound. “I trust you, I love you, I’m yours. Now shut up and let me make love to you.” He glanced at the bedside clock, and kissed Maedhros again, grinning. “We’ve only got thirty minutes left.”

 

* * *

Downstairs, Amrod drummed his heels against the cabinets, perched once again on the countertop. 

“Stop,” said Curufin, without looking at him, absorbed in his book. 

Amrod stilled, but across the kitchen, Amras took up the beat, kicking his feet against the base of his chair. 

“ _Stop_ ,” snapped Curufin. 

The twins gave him reproachful looks. “But we’re hungry.” 

“So have something to eat.” 

“It’s Sunday,” said Amras. “Brunch is traditional.” 

“Yes, well, I don’t cook,” said Curufin shortly. “Get someone else.” 

Amrod heaved a sigh. “Moryo says he’ll make us eggs, but only on his schedule.” 

“Which means 2pm or later,” translated Amras. “And Káno had an early shift at the coffee shop.” 

“And Nelyo’s upstairs with Findekáno,” said Amrod, making a face. “For another hour.” 

“Go wake Tur – Tyelko,” said Curufin, turning a page. 

“He’s not here,” said Amras, wandering over to the fridge and opening and closing it a couple times. “We went to his room after waking up Nelyo.” 

Curufin looked up at that, his eyes narrowing. “Oh no? Where is he?” 

“No clue,” said Amrod, and slid off the counter with a thump. “Does that mean you you’ll cook for us?” 

Curufin lowered his book, resigned. “Fine. I hope you like cold cereal.”

  

* * *

The espresso machine hissed and growled in the background as Mablung leaned forward, propping his elbows on the narrow café table. “So, man, it’s a new season. C’mon, give me the details. What’s the team like without us? Tell me you’re losing on a regular basis. Tell me it’s the worst.” 

Beleg smiled at his friend, and turned his coffee cup in his hands. “Well…actually we’re 5 and 0 this season.” 

“No shit. Seriously?” 

“Yeah. Sorry I couldn’t give you worse news.” 

Mablung looped his arms over the back of his chair. “Eh. I’ll live. How’s the sparkly new captain who replaced me? One of those preppy fuckers, right?” 

“Glorfindel.” 

“Whatever.” 

“He’s actually pretty good,” said Beleg fairly. “And – ” he shot an apologetic look at Mablung. “…it’s been a lot calmer now that we don’t have a captain and a star player who hate each other.” 

“What?” 

“I mean, since you and Celegorm graduated, it’s been a lot more… peaceful?” 

Mablung swore. “It’s a fuckin’ rugby team, Beleg. It’s not supposed to be peaceful. It’s s’posed to be violent! Shit.” 

“Well, yeah, on the field, but it’s nice not having fights in the locker room…” 

“Makes you that much more violent on the field.” 

“Makes you that much more _bruised_ on the field.” 

Mablung sighed, shaking his head. “Well, Celegorm may have been a rich kid asshole with a god complex, but he _could_ tear shit up on the field. And then there was me, of course. Got anyone who can replace us?” 

Mablung could have sworn a blush rose on Beleg’s cheeks, but he told himself he must have been mistaken as his friend answered evenly, “There’s that freshman.” 

“What freshman?” 

“The recruit. The one the president pointed Oromë to.” 

“Oh yeah. I figured that was just some nepotism shit.” 

Beleg shook his head. “It’s not. He’s actually the best player on the team.” 

“No! Some kid?” 

“Not just some kid. His dad played internationally. You remember the ’95 World Cup? Húrin Thalion?” 

“No fucking way.” 

“Yep.” 

Mablung drummed his fingers. “What ever happened to that guy?” 

Beleg shrugged uneasily. “I don’t actually know. Túrin doesn’t talk about him.” 

“Huh.” Mablung looked a little put out. “So you’ve got a ringer now.” 

“Yeah. But Coach doesn’t let us lean too much on him. He says we can’t afford to get complacent because we rely on one player, because then what if we lose him to an injury or something? Which, to be fair, is kind of what happened when Celegorm – ” 

“We did fine without him.” 

“We _lost_.” 

“Angband had a stronger team.” 

Beleg grinned. “I’ve never heard you admit another team is better. You _really_ don’t want to admit that Celegorm was our ace in the hole.” 

“Sorry, did you say asshole?” 

Beleg punched him lightly. “Get _over_ it, Mablung.” 

“Are you kidding? You know what his fucking family – ” 

“His father, not him.” 

“Whatever. Like father, like son.” Mablung drained his drink and tilted back in his chair. 

“Careful.” Beleg glanced over his shoulder. “You know one of them works here.” 

“One of who?” 

“One of Celegorm’s brothers. One of the sons of you know who.” 

“Oh, yeah. That weirdo musician.” Mablung tilted his empty cup on its edge and spun it lightly. “The one who re-wrote the National Anthem to be twenty verses long and all alliterative. For who the fuck knows what reason.” 

“Something artistic,” said Beleg pensively. “I suppose.” 

“So I should watch my mouth? What’s he gonna do to me? Fire me? Evict me? Turn me out into the street like his fa – ” 

“Mablung.” 

“Fucking leeches.” 

Mablung subsided though, and they both looked up as one of the baristas, a red bandana tied around his dark hair, crossed to the register. 

“Speak of the devil,” said Beleg quietly. 

Mablung’s lip curled slightly. “Let’s get out of here.” 

They made their way out onto the street, speaking lightly of other things. Mablung elbowed Beleg as they paused by the bus stop. “You seeing anyone these days? Who was that underclassman girl who had a thing for you – whatshername – Nellas?” 

Beleg definitely blushed this time, and shook his head. “No, I’m not – I’m not seeing…anyone, really, right now.” 

Mablung raised an eyebrow. “Okay.” 

“Have you stopped by campus to say hi to anyone?” Beleg asked quickly. “You haven’t been in town since graduation. Have you seen anyone else from the team?” 

“I was gonna go say hi to Coach at some point,” said Mablung, and then let out a whistle. “But man, talk about timing – looks like I’m in luck.” He pointed, and Beleg turned. On the other side of the street, walking with his ubiquitous companion the large grey wolfhound, was Oromë. Mablung was about to call out when Beleg’s hand closed around his upper arm. 

“Check it out.” 

A tall figure was striding up the street towards Oromë, fair hair loose and shaggy under a baseball cap. 

Mablung’s lips tightened. “Oh, look who it is.” 

“Mablung,” said Beleg quietly, a note of warning in his voice. 

“I’m not going to do anything…” 

They both drew back inadvertently though, so that they were half concealed behind the bus shelter. They watched as Celegorm drew to a halt before Oromë, who half raised a hand in greeting. 

“Have they stayed in touch?” 

“Looks like it, doesn’t it.” 

“I thought after his injury…” But Mablung broke off, frowning, as Celegorm seemed to disregard Oromë’s greeting. Instead, his face was tight and angry, something dangerous flickering across his strong features. 

“That looks familiar,” murmured Beleg. 

“Yeah.” Mablung was still frowning. “That’s the look he gets before a fight. I should know.” 

Celegorm was saying something, low and bitter, too quiet for them to hear. Oromë swayed back as if something Celegorm had said was a blow, and Celegorm laughed harshly. 

“What the fuck,” muttered Mablung. 

Oromë raised a hand then, reaching for Celegorm’s shoulder, but Celegorm knocked it away, his face positively murderous now, and when he spoke, his voice grew in volume so they could almost make out the words. 

“…planning on telling me, huh?” 

Oromë had bent towards him, speaking quietly and earnestly, but Celegorm was shaking his head, spitting words back, and again, they were now partially audible. 

“…how many fucking months this time? Before…” 

“Tyelko – ” 

“Shut up!” Seeming to realize he had raised his voice again, Celegorm looked furious and hissed something further. Unconsciously, both Mablung and Beleg leaned forward. They could only catch snippets, and nothing that made any sense. 

“…fucking _Vána_ …. not going to be …. not again.” 

“Not again what?” Mablung mouthed to Beleg, but Beleg just shook his head. 

Oromë reached out, and as his hands closed on Celegorm’s shoulders, they saw him give a convulsive shudder. Oromë seemed to be trying to explain something, but Celegorm wrenched away, his eyes wild. 

“Fuck you!” 

Oromë flinched back, and it was such an unusual gesture in their strong, steady coach, that both Mablung and Beleg flinched too. 

Seeming to realize his voice had rung out around him, Celegorm looked around. His gaze skimmed the bus shelter, and both of them drew back, but not quickly enough. Celegorm’s eyes fell on them, and for a second something like fear lit them. Then his whole face closed off into blank fury and he turned on his heel and strode off down the street, fists clenching before he buried them in his pockets. 

Oromë stood still a long while, staring after him, before turning, slowly as an old man, and walking in the opposite direction. 

At Mablung’s side, Beleg let out a long breath. 

“What,” said Mablung slowly, “the _fuck_ was that about?” 

Beleg shook his head. “I have no idea.” But his eyes followed Oromë curiously until their coach was out of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2\. I’ve decided to skillfully (read: artlessly) analogize Sindar/Noldor relations as class rivalry, with the Sindar being the more working class kids and the Noldor being the richies. Sophisticated, eh?  
> 3\. UPDATE: Now, instead of just having to deal with my coy allusions to it, you can read about Fingon and Maedhros' historic breakup/angstfest [here!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2271618/chapters/4990956) Wooo shameless self-promotion!


	11. Scholars and fools

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a bunch of people enter and exit various rooms. That’s it; that’s the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. This takes place about a week after the previous chapter.  
> 1\. This chapter contains no sex. I feel rather shocked at myself.  
> 2\. Warnings for lots of nerds, though.

Galadriel set her chin in her hand and stared down at the charts spread on the floor beside her stool. 

“I’m still not convinced we’ve optimized walkability.”

“Cut down on the number of parking lots,” said Elenwë, who was sitting on the floor. “They’re a terrible use of space, they increase the urban heat island effect, and they encourage people to drive more.” 

“Yes, good,” said Galadriel, jotting busily in her notepad. “And the distance issue can be resolved with multi-use neighborhoods. If the grocery store is just around the corner, why drive?” 

“Mm.” Elenwë stretched her legs out to either side and propped her elbows on the floor, studying the sketches. 

“This is why we need such zoning law reform. It’s absolute nonsense that neighborhoods have _regulations_ preventing multi-use construction,” Galadriel went on. “All the studies show – ” 

“Water,” said Elenwë, not listening. “Let’s talk about water.” 

Galadriel sighed. “Fine. What do we need to discuss?” 

“Well, we’re assuming an eastern city, right? So that means the focus is less about water rights and conservation and storage than it is about storm and wastewater management. Have you considered permeable pavements?”

“Materials are more your realm than mine,” said Galadriel. “Won’t that be expensive?”

“The benefits can seriously cut down on costs,” said Elenwë enthusiastically. “Particularly if you factor in cuts to snow removal. The permeable pavements facilitate melt, so you can allocate less of your budget on plows, sand, mag-chlor, and so on.” 

“Slow down.” Galadriel was scribbling again. “Go back to the part about – ”

“Um,” said a voice, and they both looked up. Maedhros was standing over them, having just walked through the door, keys in one hand, groceries in the other, looking slightly confused. 

“What are you – ” 

“How are you doing, Maitimo?” asked Galadriel, returning to her notebook.

“I’m fine, but – ” 

“I like your haircut.” 

Maedhros raised a hand to his head, looking slightly bewildered. “Thank you, but – ” 

“Do you have a compass?” 

“ _What?_ ”

Elenwë took pity on him. “We’re working on our combined-discipline city planning project,” she said. “Artanis is dealing with the city planning aspect, actually, I’m the consulting environmental engineer. Our departments gave us permission to do a collaborative senior project, even though she’s liberal arts and I’m engineering. Cool, huh?” 

“Very,” said Maedhros. “But why are you on our floor?”

“My apartment is tiny and doesn’t let us spread out,” said Elenwë, “and Artanis – ” 

“ – lives with two brothers who lack the concept of tidy life, tidy mind,” said Galadriel vaguely. “Not that I help. But we haven’t actually seen our floor in a month or so.” 

“Carnistir said we could work here,” said Elenwë. 

“Ah,” said Maedhros, setting the grocery bag on the counter. “And where is he?” 

“Upstairs,” said Galadriel. 

“With Haleth,” said Elenwë, and tried to suppress a smile. 

Maedhros narrowed his eyes. “Are you trying to insinuate something?” 

“Not the something you think,” said Galadriel, as all of a sudden raised voices drifted down the stairs, apparently in heated debate. They all paused to listen, as the voices got louder. 

“Have you ever considered that maybe Adam Smith was wrong?” 

“How _DARE_ you.” 

“I’m just saying – ” 

“You are speaking of the _father of capitalism_.” 

Someone snorted loudly. “You say that like it’s a reason I should respect him.” 

“IT IS!” 

“Yeah, well, you and Adam Smith can both take the bloated carcass that is capitalism and shove it up your asses.” 

Something smashed, there was a lot of incoherent yelling, and shortly thereafter a figure came unperturbedly down the stairs. 

Galadriel, Elenwë, and Maedhros watched as a short, dark-skinned girl with her hair in braids wandered into the kitchen. “Hi,” she said to Maedhros, holding out her hand. “I’m Haleth. I think I’ve given your brother an aneurysm.” 

“Pleasure,” said Maedhros, at a loss, and shook her hand. 

“Hey, Hal,” said Elenwë from the floor. 

“Hey,” said Haleth. “Nice performance last week.”

“Thanks!” Elenwë looked pleased. “It was our first piece in the new space.” 

“The choreography was sick.” 

“Amarië’s,” said Elenwë, looking envious. “She’s so talented. We’ll miss her once basketball season starts up again. But she has her _priorities_ … But hey, what are you working on?” 

“Economics,” said Haleth. 

“Yikes.” 

“It’s not so bad.” Haleth sat down on the floor next to Elenwë. “It’s entertaining, at least.”

A minute later, Caranthir came thundering down the stairs. “You can’t just walk away, I’m not done debating with you!” 

“It seemed like you were having a fury stroke, so I decided to give you some time to recover,” said Haleth patiently. 

“I WAS SIMPLY COMPOSING MYSELF FOR A REBUTTAL – ” Caranthir began, at volume, and Haleth shook her head. 

“Caranthir. I’d like to discuss this with you, but you make it difficult when you get this emotional,” she said, and gave Elenwë and Galadriel a meaningful look. “Men.”

“Men,” agreed Elenwë, eyes twinkling, and Galadriel nodded and buried herself in her notebook again. 

“STOP DOING THAT.” 

Elenwë turned to Galadriel, ignoring the noises of outrage coming from Caranthir. “I know we’ve been talking hypothetically, or in terms of some generalized eastern city, but what if we make it specific? What if we – ” 

“ – make it _this_ city?” finished Galadriel. “I already thought of that. You know, I think this could go from the realm of city-planning to city rejuvenation. Revitalization. Rebuilding.” 

“It needs it!” exclaimed Elenwë, enthusiastically. “The _community_ needs it. Particularly after the Alqualondë factory fire – ” she caught herself and broke off, looking up at Maedhros in some embarrassment. 

But Maedhros appeared not to have heard, his face smooth and implacable as he began unloading the groceries. 

“Um,” said Elenwë, uncomfortably, but Galadriel picked up their conversation, unruffled. 

“If these modifications can be framed as shovel-ready projects then that’s a significant increase in job availability. Many of those left unemployed following the incident at Alqualondë could be trained and recruited with minimum overhead, and those construction jobs – ” 

“OH,” said Caranthir suddenly. “That’s what else I was going to say. The _free market_ , you communist, is the _building block_ of modern society, and – ” 

“Right, the same way a chopping block is foundational to a guillotine, you small-minded fascist – ” 

Caranthir went brick red. “FASCIST?” 

“ – we should consider expanding city parks as well, perhaps connecting them with a bike trail using the old rail grade – ” 

“Definitely, but if we’re talking greening the city, fuck Kentucky bluegrass, xeriscaping's not just for out west – ” 

Maedhros leaned forward on the counter, pressing his fingers to his temples.

“Think the committee would go for it?” 

“IT’S THE FIRST WEEK OF THE SEMESTER AND I’M ALREADY REGRETTING TAKING THIS CLASS WITH YOU.” 

“Back atcha.” 

“Can you please,” began Maedhros, looking like he was close to burying his face in the grocery bag. 

He was interrupted by the door slamming nearly off its hinges as Celegorm stormed into the house. His furious progress was arrested as he nearly fell headlong over Elenwë’s papers spread out across the floor. Trying to keep from falling, he wheeled, and Haleth dodged quickly out of the way, but not before Caranthir tried to dodge the other way and ended up running straight into his brother. 

Celegorm swore so violently that Elenwë clapped her hands to her ears and Galadriel looked mildly impressed. Even Caranthir looked a little alarmed.

“What the FUCK – ” 

Maedhros intervened swiftly, placing himself between Celegorm and Caranthir. “Tyelko.” 

Celegorm was forced to look up to meet his brother’s eyes, and whatever he saw there made him quiet. 

“We’re going to relocate,” said Elenwë. “Thanks for the – uh, real estate, Maitimo. Moryo.” She scooped the charts into her arms and beat a hasty exit out the door. Galadriel slid from her stool and picked up her shoes from the floor, following Elenwë out the door. But before she left she paused, her eyes fixing curiously on Celegorm. He flushed before her gaze, and she held him pinned for a moment before vanishing from the house.

Haleth said nothing, but tugged Caranthir by the elbow into the living room. He went quietly. 

Maedhros folded his arms and looked down at Celegorm. “What’s going on, Tyelko?” 

Celegorm’s eyes blazed. “Nothing.”

“That’s obviously not true.”

“Oh, fuck off, Nelyo.” Celegorm sneered. “There’s no one around to impress. You don’t have to pretend to be the caring big brother.” He made to push past Maedhros, but Maedhros caught him by the shoulder.

“No. I don’t care what you think my motivation is, but I want to know what the hell has been going on with you, Tyelkormo. Something’s up.” 

“I said, _nothing_ is up.”

“Bullshit.” 

“Wow, Nelyo, did you just swear?” Celegorm crossed his arms and grinned at his brother. “Is that how you’re going to impress me into taking you seriously?” 

“Is it something to do with your old coach?” 

Celegorm froze. 

“It is, isn’t it.” 

Celegorm found his voice. “What – why do you think that?”

“Makalaurë saw you last week. He said you had some kind of interaction with him downtown, some kind of altercation.” 

“I wonder if Makalaurë’s arms get tired,” said Celegorm musingly, but his voice was brittle. “Clinging so desperately to your ass like he does.” 

“Why were you fighting with your former coach?”

“None of your fucking busin– ” 

“Nelyo?” 

They both jumped and looked around. Curufin was standing there, looking innocent. 

“What is it?” said Maedhros distractedly. 

“Have you seen my charger?” Curufin asked, ignoring Celegorm entirely. 

“What? I don’t know…probably in the living room...” 

“Not the usual one. I need the one with the extender. It’s the only one that reaches the projector, you know. I’ve been asked to give a presentation to the fellowship board tomorrow, and father will be there. He called and told me he’d like to see you, by the way. I think he’s curious about your law school application. What were your LSATs again? He had some notion they were sub-average, but I told him that couldn’t possibly be true, not with all the time you put in. Six months, was it? I think he’s concerned you’re too old to be applying – you’ve got kind of a late start, when most of your competitors will be twenty three and twenty four, but with age, wisdom, right?” 

Maedhros’ fingers curled unconsciously. “I – What exactly did you need from me, Curvo?” 

“Oh.” Curufin smiled, a beautiful, open smile. “I wanted to know if you’ve seen my charger.” 

“ _No._ ” 

“That’s all, then.” 

Shaking his head, Maedhros turned back to Celegorm. 

Who was gone. 

“Oh dear,” said Curufin softly. “Were you two in the middle of something? What a shame. I’m sure you can pick up the conversation later.” And smiling slightly to himself, he left the room.

 

-

 

As Curufin made his way back to his room, a hand closed around his upper arm as he passed Celegorm’s door. 

“Why did you do that?” Celegorm tugged him into his doorway. 

Curufin shrugged. “You know how I hate it when Nelyo gets so nosey and interfering. It was none of his business.” 

Celegorm released Curufin’s arm. “It’s none of your business either, Curvo.” 

“Don’t be stupid,” said Curufin. “If you actually want to keep your secrets to yourself, you need my help. You’re hopeless at dissembling.” 

“What am I supposed to be taking apart?”

Curufin sighed. “ _Idiot_. Lying, Tyelko. You’re a terrible deceiver.” 

Celegorm chewed on this a moment. “What’s in it for you?” 

“You seem to find it hard to believe that I have your happiness at heart,” said Curufin tartly. “Why do you struggle so much with that concept?” 

Celegorm laughed. “Because I know you. It’s _never_ that simple for you. And because if you cared about my happiness, Curvo, you never would have interfered. I was _happy_ with him before I knew.” 

“You were deluded.” 

“So what? I was happy, not knowing.” 

“Never throw away further knowledge when it’s offered you. Ignorance isn’t bliss, Tyelko, it’s waste,” said Curufin, and Celegorm shuddered. 

“I hate it when you quote dad like that. But fine. Thanks for the…help. I owe you one.” 

Curufin looked over his shoulder. “Yes. But I think I hear Nelyo coming up the stairs, so make yourself scarce if you want to avoid his self-important _I do this because I care_ act.” He made to leave and Celegorm’s hand landed briefly on his arm again. 

“I – I’m glad you – Thanks. Really.” 

“You said that already,” said Curufin, but some color came to his cheeks. “We can talk later.” And he slipped swiftly down the hall. 

 

-

  

On the landing, where they’d paused at the sound of voices, Caranthir and Haleth exchanged glances. 

“Well,” said Haleth, quietly. “That sounded intriguing.” 

“Yes.” Caranthir was unusually thoughtful. 

“What was it about?” Haleth looked up at him, and when he failed to answer, she bumped him with her shoulder. “Caranthir.” 

“I dunno,” he said, finally. “But it’s interesting. What are they up to?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. I wrote this over the course of a week at a conference, so that's why it's full of nerds, and it's also my excuse for any weak writing. Usually I can write a chapter this length in a couple hours; taking several days to do it probably only makes my process less fluid. Whining and excuses! It's what's for dinner.


	12. Cup of Kings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I return to the fundamentals and everyone gets drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Crude language, sexual references, and a shit-ton of drinking.

Maedhros was uncorking a bottle of wine when Maglor wandered into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, took out a jar of pickles, examined it, and wandered away, pickles in hand. 

“Close the refrigerator door,” said Maedhros, exasperated, setting the wine on the counter. 

“What? Oh.” Maglor looked up, as if startled to see his brother. “Right.” He closed the door and took in the scene. “Isn’t it early for wine?” 

Maedhros freed the cork. “It’s 8pm.” 

“Oh.” Maglor looked surprised. “Is it?” 

Maedhros gazed heavenward. “Yes.” 

“Who’s the wine for?” 

Maedhros gestured towards the living room. “The Nolofinwions have had a long week.”

Maglor peered into the room, interested. 

Fingon was collapsed on the couch, boneless and exhausted, while Aredhel slumped on the floor before him, leaning against his legs. 

Fingon was in the midst of a rant. “…and the _paperwork_. Haven’t they heard we have a deforestation problem? Christ. Just to file a simple petition! Have I mentioned I hate bureaucrats?” 

Aredhel snorted. “Whiner. You know what my workday included? Picking a tick out of a camper’s bellybutton. You shut your damn mouth.” 

“Picking ticks is kind of a metaphor for the bureaucracy, is it not?” said Maglor, propping his elbows on the back of the couch. “I mean, if you assume that the bellybutton in question belongs to society – ”

Fingon and Aredhel both groaned loudly until Maglor stopped talking, looking vaguely offended.

“And it’s humid,” said Aredhel, leaning her head back on Fingon’s knees. “So my hair exploded.”

“I’ll braid it,” said Fingon, gathering a fistful of her messy curls and examining it with interest.

“You don’t know shit about braiding hair, don’t be stupid.”

“I can do anything I put my mind to, Ireth, so shut up and appreciate my skill.” Fingon divided Aredhel’s hair into three approximate clumps and began weaving them haphazardly together.

Maedhros came in with the wine and some glasses, but Aredhel plucked the bottle from his hands and brought it immediately to her lips. “Thanks, Maitimo, but you should have brought enough for the whole group.” 

“Greedy,” said Fingon, tugging her hair in retribution, so that she sputtered into the wine bottle. Maedhros just sighed and went back into the kitchen. 

“Hey,” Fingon called. “Text your brothers to bring home beer. I may have told a bunch of people we were having a party here tonight.”

“Excuse me?” Maedhros looked up. “Doesn’t anyone else have a house for parties?” 

“Nope. And I should have told you, huh?” Fingon smiled apologetically. “I’ll make it up to you. With sexual favors.” 

“I get sexual favors for free,” mumbled Maedhros, but he pulled out his phone. “I’ll get Moryo to pick up a thirty rack. You’d better cough up some money, though.” 

“Of course, beloved,” said Fingon, beaming. “You’re the light of my life, the beat of my heart, the – ” 

“Yeah, yeah,” said Maedhros, typing busily. “Save it for later.” 

“For the bedroom,” said Aredhel, and flinched as Fingon pulled her hair. “Ow! See, this is why I drink.” 

“As if you need an excuse,” said Fingon. “Now. Want a French braid or a…lumpy thing, with bunches?” 

Maglor ate his pickles, and watched.

 

* * *

 

 

“Did it occur to you I could have Lyme disease? And in addition to that, you’ve burdened me with,” Aredhel gestured wildly to her head, “ _this_ mess?” 

Fingon wrinkled his nose at her. “It’s stylistic.” 

“It looks like a small badger,” observed Caranthir, casually stretching an arm out along the back of the couch behind Haleth. 

“You’re not helping, Moryo,” said Fingon. 

“I’m not trying to help.” 

“I’m a badger head,” said Aredhel sadly. “With Lyme disease. Probably.” 

“Shut up and drink your wine.” 

“Yes,” said Aredhel. “My _wine._ I am not a drunk. I am classy. I am like a – European type thing. I am drinking wine, nerds, not your plerbian – plebiran – peasant-ass beer. I am a fuckin’ class-act.” She raised the wine bottle to her lips. “So there.” 

Haleth reached over to examine the lumpy mass of Aredhel’s hair. “I could fix this for you.” 

“Would you?” Aredhel gazed up at Haleth like she’d never seen anything so beautiful. “I’d be eternally grateford. Appreciatful? You’re pretty.” 

“Hands off, Irissë,” said Caranthir. “You have a girlfriend.” 

Haleth shot him an annoyed look, but Aredhel just nodded, settling back against Fingon’s legs. Fingon winced as her shoulder blades ground into his shins. 

“I do have a girlfriend. And she is _most_ beautiful. But she’s in Connecticut this weekend. Also, did you know, Moryo?” Aredhel raised her wine bottle and waved it. “She orgasms in Spanish. How hot is that?” 

Haleth’s eyes widened and Caranthir grinned. Fingon dug his toes into Aredhel’s low back. “Ireth. I’m pretty sure Elenwë wouldn’t appreciate you, um, sharing that information.” 

“Whatever.” Aredhel took another long swig. “You’re just jealous _you_ don’t have a bilingual girlfriend.”

“So true,” said Fingon. “I often wish my girlfriend spoke more languages.” 

“What did you call me?” Maedhros perched on the arm of the couch and leaned on Fingon’s shoulder. 

Fingon patted his leg. “Don’t worry, babe, I wasn’t talking about you. I was talking about my girlfriend on the side.” He ducked as Maedhros swatted at him. “Joking! Also, Ireth, for your information, Maitimo speaks German.” 

Aredhel looked alarmed. “I don’t know if I’d want to hear an orgasm in German.” 

“Don’t worry, he doesn’t orgasm in German, he – ” 

Maedhros clapped a hand over Fingon’s mouth. “That’s quite enough of that. Let’s talk about something else, hm?” 

Fingon’s eyes sparkled above Maedhros’ hand, but he nodded meekly, and Maedhros pulled his hand away. “Was that the door?” 

“Yo, weasels!” 

“Aikanáro!” Fingon leapt up from the couch, spilling Aredhel to the floor. 

“Help,” she said, but Fingon ignored her. 

“You punk-ass bastard, I haven’t seen you in months!” 

Tall and lanky, with spikey hair and knockoff Ray-Bans pushed up on his forehead, Aegnor grinned and embraced Fingon. “Ay, Finno. Where the fuck have you been? You haven’t been to any games in like six months.” 

“Ultimate’s fallen off my schedule,” said Fingon, making a face. “I work too late in the evenings now.” 

“Heinous,” said Aegnor. “I never pegged you for the 60 hour work week, man.” 

“Neither did I,” said Fingon, with a sigh. 

Aegnor raised his eyebrows as he perused the scene. “Big party, huh?” 

Fingon shrugged. “It’s mostly just old friends. Irissë’s having a big enough party by herself.” Aredhel saluted from the floor. “Did you bring your siblings?” 

Aegnor gestured behind him. “Ingoldo’s parking. And Artanis is already in the kitchen.” 

Maglor jumped as Galadriel materialized behind him, holding an old green bottle. “Is this whiskey available for general consumption, Makalaurë?”

“I suppose so,” said Maglor. “I drank the first half while I was composing my rock opera, but given how that turned out, I’ve sort of avoided it ever since…” 

“Perfect,” said Galadriel, and poured two glasses. “I’ve got your drink, Aiko.” 

“Cheers!” Aegnor slung an arm around Fingon’s shoulders. “Have some whiskey with me, bro. You clearly need something strong. Have you shrunk?” 

Fingon made an indignant noise as Aegnor dragged him across the room. “Excuse me?” 

“I think you’ve gotten shorter. And definitely scrawnier. Too long in an office, man…” 

“I could take you any time, you seven foot freak, _bring it_.” 

“Is Aikanáro seeing anyone these days?” Maglor asked Galadriel, watching her sip her whiskey. “Wasn’t he dating – ” 

“Mmm,” said Galadriel, and shook her head. “It’s a long story. Don’t ask him about it.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Ask Findaráto. He’s got the scoop. But essentially, my brothers are all idiots when it comes to women.” 

“Ah,” said Maglor, and studied Aegnor thoughtfully. 

Galadriel climbed onto a stool and held out her arms. Her hair fell loose over her shoulders, and glowed in the fluorescent light of the kitchen. She wobbled slightly, but her voice was clear. 

“Friends, family, countrymen - it is time for a drinking game.” 

“Beer-pong!” shouted Fingon.

She pointed at him. “No.” 

“Flip-cup!” called Aredhel, still on the floor with her bottle of wine. 

“Rejected.” 

“The Nolofinwions are being discriminated against,” said Fingon. “I cry foul.” 

“Just tell us what we’re playing, little sister,” said Aegnor, and lobbed an empty red cup at her. “Stop grandstanding.” 

Galadriel lifted her chin and smiled, pulling a deck of cards from her back pocket. “King’s Cup, you reprobates. Circle up.” 

As everyone gathered around the coffee table and Galadriel spread the cards face down around a can of PBR, Aegnor leaned close to Fingon. “Where’s Tyelko? This seems like his scene.”

Fingon shrugged. “I dunno. He hasn’t been around much lately. You could ask Irissë, she might know more.” 

“I know nothing,” said Aredhel stoically, and pulled herself over to the coffee table. “I am _such_ a good friend, guys. I tell no secrets.” 

Fingon glowered at her. “That is such a lie. What about the time you told everyone about what happened to me in the garage?” 

“That’s different.” Aredhel took another drink. “You’re not my friend. You’re my brother. Secrets between us mean nothing, _dude_.” 

“In that case,” said Fingon. “I think everyone would be interested to know about the time I walked in on you with a - ” 

Aredhel sprang to her feet with surprising agility considering more than half the bottle of wine was gone, and slapped her hand over his mouth. 

Fingon looked pained. “Is this tonight’s theme, or something?” he asked, muffled. “Censorship. For fuck’s sake.” 

“Keep your mouth shut and no one gets hurt,” said Aredhel, in his ear, and he kicked at her shins until she released him. 

“I am feeling seriously oppressed,” he said, pulling a tragic expression onto his face that lasted only until Maedhros wrapped his arms around his waist and kissed his neck. “…but I think I’ll survive.” 

“That’s better,” murmured Maedhros, and pulled him around for a long kiss. 

“Whoo!” exclaimed Aegnor. “ _Get some._ ”

“Get a room,” said Aredhel, and collapsed back to the floor. “We playing or what?”

 

* * *

 

 

Some time later, there were wide gaps in the circle of cards on the coffee table, and almost everyone was gathered around with a drink. Maglor and Haleth were sitting on the couch together, absorbed in conversation. Caranthir was watching them from the corner of his eye. 

Fingon leaned forward, watching Finrod intently. “This is very important, Ingoldo. Don’t you fuck this up.” 

Finrod twiddled the King of Hearts between his fingers absently. “Hum.” 

“Booo,” said Aredhel, hanging off Caranthir’s shoulder. “Make a rule. Hurry it up. We’re getting sober here.” 

“And if you say ‘little green man’, I’ll kill you,” said Aegnor, dropping his sunglasses over his eyes. 

“Hmm.” 

Maedhros winced and twisted his back. “Must we sit on the floor? It’s so uncomfortable.” 

“Aw,” said Fingon, tilting over to hook his chin over Maedhros’ shoulder. “It’s tough getting old, isn’t it, baby?” 

“Thirty’s when it starts going downhill,” said Aegnor. 

“I’m _not_ thirty.” Maedhros looked put out. “I’m not even twenty-nine.” 

“You’re ancient, my darling, just accept it,” said Fingon, and kissed him. 

“But we will all be ancient if Findaráto doesn’t fuckin’ make a rule already,” said Aegnor, and kicked at his brother from across the circle. “GO.” 

Finrod smiled angelically. “You want a rule? Fine. No swearing.” He slid the card under the tab of the central beer as the circle went silent around him. 

“Are you fucking seri – ” 

“Drink,” said Finrod, tapping his finger against Aredhel’s wine bottle, and she glared at him. 

“You are such an asshole, man,” began Aegnor, and Finrod wagged a finger. 

“Drink, little brother.” 

“Fuck,” said Aegnor, and drank twice.

 

-

 

Maedhros drew the Jack of Spades. 

“What’s that, ‘Never Have I Ever’?” 

“Yes. And no lying,” said Galadriel. “I’ll know, don’t think I won’t.” 

Everyone held up three fingers, even Maglor and Haleth having joined the circle at this point. 

“Okay,” said Maedhros, and put his head to the side, thinking. “Never have I ever…gotten drunk on an airplane.” 

“Boring,” said Aegnor, as he put a finger down. “C’mon, say something _juicy_.” 

“Maybe I’ve done all the juicy things,” said Maedhros coolly. 

“Doubtful.” 

“You say that,” said Caranthir, “but you don’t have a room under his.” 

“Moving on,” said Galadriel. “Your turn, Irissë.”

“Um,” said Aredhel, who was having rather a difficult time sitting upright, and dragged herself up on Caranthir’s shoulder. “Never have I ever – um. No, I’ve done that. Never have I ever had – nope. Never have I ever been – okay, that one time. Wait! Okay, here it is. Never have I ever been fucked in the ass.” She grinned broadly. “Now _y’all put your fingers down._ ” 

“Too easy,” said Fingon in a bored voice, as he put a finger down. “Cheap shot. Also, you swore twice, _drink_ you fu – person. Hang on, Artanis, was that a finger you just put down?” 

“Just use lots of lube,” said Galadriel, as Finrod and Aegnor exchanged horrified looks. “It’s good stuff, Irissë, don’t rule it out.” 

“Noted,” said Aredhel, looking delighted. 

“Moving on,” said Aegnor loudly. “Never have I ever been walked in on by a sibling.” 

There was a swell of laughter as Maglor, Maedhros, and Caranthir all simultaneously put a finger down.

“You try having six younger brothers and not getting walked in on,” said Maedhros. 

“You try having a brother with an affinity for lock picks and not getting walked in on,” said Maglor, a look of remembered horror on his face. 

“Where _is_ Curvo?” asked Aegnor, as everyone laughed. 

“Upstairs,” said Maedhros. “Parties aren’t really his thing.” 

“We should get him,” said Aegnor enthusiastically. “I haven’t seen that kid in ages.” 

“Good luck,” said Caranthir. “Maybe Tyelko could convince him to come down, but no one else could.” 

“We could just invade and drag him bodily down here,” said Aegnor, but Maedhros and Caranthir shook their heads together. 

“That would be a _bad_ idea.” 

“Anyway,” said Maglor. “I believe it’s my turn.” He thought a moment. “Never have I ever listened to Taylor Swift.”

“Oh my god, you’re the worst.”

“Also, probably lying.” 

“Or else just a fuckin’ snob.” 

“DRINK.”

“I’m out,” said Fingon, lowering his hand. “Where’s my drink?”

 

* * *

 

“So much for a low-key party,” said Maedhros quietly, scanning the room. Bodies were spread over the floor, the couch, even the coffee table. 

“I know,” said Fingon, yawning, and draping himself over Maedhros. “Disgusting drunks, the lot of them. Take me to bed.” 

“I’m not carrying you.”

“You don’t love me.” 

Maedhros nuzzled against Fingon’s ear. “Meet me upstairs in bed and you’ll see just how much I don’t love you.” 

Fingon grinned and wrapped his arms around Maedhros’ neck for a clinging kiss. “You better believe I’ll be there. But,” he glanced over his shoulder. “…I should go check on my post-bottle-of-wine sister.” 

“Probably,” agreed Maedhros. He kissed Fingon once more and released him. “I’ll meet you upstairs.” 

Fingon stepped over the sleeping forms on the living room floor, weaving a little as he tried not to trip over Aegnor’s long body. On the couch, Caranthir had laid a light arm across Haleth’s waist, and she was tucked against his side, fast asleep. Galadriel and Finrod had claimed chairs on either side of the room and were curled like cats in their respective armchairs. 

Fingon slipped down the dark hallway to the bathroom. “Ireth? How you doing in here, do you need some water? Maybe some toast... Ireth?” He pushed open the door and frowned. The bathroom was empty. 

- 

He finally found Aredhel upstairs, sprawled across Celegorm’s bed in his dark room. “Hey. I didn’t know where you’d gone.” 

“ ‘m here.” 

Fingon sat on the bed beside her and stroked a hand over her hair. “How are you feeling?” 

“Like I drank a bottle of wine and then puked a bottle of wine,” said Aredhel, into the pillow. 

“Sounds about right. I brought you some water.” 

“Mph.” 

“I’m not leaving until you drink it.” Fingon rubbed lightly at Aredhel’s neck and laid the cool glass against her shoulder. “C’mon.” 

“Fine.” She rolled over, bleary-eyed, and he helped her tip the glass against her lips. Most of the water rolled down her neck, but she just laid back, eyes closed, and pushed the glass away when she was done. 

Fingon set it on the bedside table. “I’m gonna fill it back up and leave it here for you, okay?” 

“Mmk.” 

Fingon smiled and stretched out beside her. “I guess this is payback for all those times you took care of me when I came back wasted junior year.” 

Aredhel groaned. “Drunk, heartbroken Findekáno was the _worst_.” 

“At least you’re not heartbroken.” 

“Not yet.” She rolled over and tucked her face against his shoulder. 

He tried to look at her, even as she buried her face against his neck. “What do you mean?” 

“I think Elenwë’s going to break up with me.” 

“What?” Fingon rolled over too, so they were facing each other. “I thought you two were going strong. And you and Turno have even made up and every- ” 

“Of course she’s going to break up with me,” whispered Aredhel. “She’s so beautiful, and smart, and she dances, Finno, did you know? And I’m just some fuck-up, I barely graduated, I don’t even have a real job… Why is she even with me?” 

“ _Irissë_. She loves you.” 

“ _Why_?” 

Fingon smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind Aredhel’s ear. “Don’t ask me. You’re the worst.” But Aredhel didn’t smile. “Oh, come on. You two are doing so well. I haven’t seen anything that – ” 

“He thought so too, though,” whispered Aredhel. “He was so happy again, he was in love, and then…and then it turned out…he’d been lied to all that time…” 

“What?” Fingon pushed himself up on one elbow and frowned down at her. “Who are you talking about?” 

“Tyelko,” said Aredhel, and threw an arm over her eyes. “He never saw it coming, and neither will _I_ …” 

“Is she all right?” Maedhros was standing in the doorway, backlit by the light from the hall. 

“Yes,” said Fingon, still staring down at his sister. “Yeah, she just needs to sleep it off.” He pulled the blankets over Aredhel, padded down the hall to refill the water glass, and left it within her reach. “Just call out if you need anything, okay?” 

“ ‘m sorry, Finno,” mumbled Aredhel, curling into the blankets. “ ‘m sorry he left you. You didn’t deserve that, y’re too good. But at least he came back t’you, right? I dunno…I dunno if Tyelko will ever get him back…” 

“What’s she saying?” asked Maedhros quietly, coming up behind Fingon, but Fingon just shook his head as Aredhel wrapped an arm around the pillow. 

“Just rambling,” he said, and turned into Maedhros’ arms. “Let’s go to bed.”


	13. A night of minimal drama

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nerdanel has an art show, Fëanor has a bunch of vocal unfriends, and Celegorm has a surprise.

Maedhros poked his head into his parents’ room. “Hello? Sorry we’re late.” 

Nerdanel emerged from the bathroom wearing a long blue gown, her hair piled on top of her head, her feet still bare. “Where the hell are my shoes? Fëanaro, I can’t find anything in here – oh! Maitimo!” Her eyes lit up when she saw her son, and she embraced Maedhros distractedly. “I’m so glad you’re here. Is everyone dressed?” She ducked to look under the bed and seized a pair of silver heels with a cry of triumph. 

“Yes, we’re all ready to go.” Maedhros held out his arm for her to lean on as she tugged on her shoe. “Even Ambarussa.” 

“Bless you. Look, I think you should go ahead of us, and enter around the back of the gallery – take the kids, would you?” 

Maedhros frowned as Nerdanel slipped on her other shoe. “Why around the back?” 

Fëanor entered the room, elegant in his dark suit, adjusting his cufflinks. “Because there are protestors out front, and your mother thinks they’ll distress the boys.” 

“And you think they won’t?” Nerdanel straightened up. “You try walking past a bunch of signs calling your father a murderer and see how you feel.” 

“I walk past signs calling _me_ a murderer on a near daily basis,” said Fëanor coolly. “It hasn’t yet affected me adversely." 

“You’re not a fifteen year old boy,” said Nerdanel. “Though you do act like one at times. Humor me, Fëanaro.” 

“As you wish,” said Fëanor, turning away. “You’re just giving them what they want.” 

“We want to go in with you,” said Maedhros quietly to his mother. “We want to be at your side, especially if – ”

“Oh, Maitimo.” Nerdanel squeezed his hand. “That’s a kind thought, but really, I’d feel better if you entered separately from us. We’ll meet you inside and I’ll more than welcome you at my side then.” She smiled a little wanly. “I’ll need someone’s arm to clutch if Aulë approaches me to discuss my work.” 

“Isn’t that what father’s for?” asked Maedhros, smiling. 

Fëanor snorted, and Nerdanel sighed. “We’ve heard that Aulë has expressed his…disaffection for certain of your father’s -” 

“Stop sidestepping, Nerdanel,” said Fëanor. “I am bad publicity for Aulë, and so I have been told to make myself scarce should he arrive.” He smiled rather icily. “I never thought I would be ordered to flee at my wife’s own show, not least by one of my former patrons. However – ” 

“Don’t be such a drama queen.” Nerdanel crossed to the mirror and pulled a couple of loose strands of hair around her face. “All I ask is one night free of melodrama. On that note, Maitimo, don’t let Carnistir and Tyelkormo get in any – well, don’t let them drink too much – oh, just keep an eye on them, will you?” 

“I’ll try,” said Maedhros, just as Maglor appeared in the hallway and knocked on the doorframe.

“Hello. Mother, you should definitely wear that brooch from grandma. No, the other one.” He gestured meaningfully to Maedhros. “If we don’t go soon, we can’t guarantee Tyelko will still have his shirt buttoned by the time we get to the gallery. He was joking about a ‘deep vee’ but I think it’s only a matter of time before he gets serious.” 

Fëanor lifted his eyes heavenward. “Take your brothers by all means then, Nelyafinwë. And, as your mother says, go around the back.” He smiled, eyes sharp. “And if those protestors give you any trouble – ” 

“We’ll be fine,” said Maedhros, and kissed his mother swiftly on the cheek. “Good luck. See you there.” 

“A night of minimal drama!” she called after him. “Spread the word.”

 

* * *

 

 

The streetlights had just come on for the evening, and there was already a noisy crowd on the block of the art gallery. Only a few were patrons waiting for admission, the rest were waving signs and shouting. 

Celegorm sloped along, hands in his pockets, scowling across the street. The signs were clearly legible, even from a distance.

WE REMEMBER ALQUALONDË 

PEOPLE OVER PRODUCTS 

ARREST MURDERERS, NO MATTER WHOSE SON THEY ARE 

“Motherfuckers,” Celegorm said, and spat. 

Curufin’s lip curled as he followed his brother’s gaze. “And fools. Talk about a simplistic worldview. Look, the idiots can’t even spell ‘oligarch’ correctly.” 

“Just ignore them,” said Maedhros, as Maglor tugged Amrod back onto the sidewalk. He’d been veering into the street, trying to read some of the signs. “And keep Curvo on your far side,” Maedhros added quietly to Maglor. “The older he gets, the more he looks like dad. Someone might notice…” 

“Let them,” said Curufin, overhearing. “I don’t care. I’m proud to be his son.” He shot Maedhros a challenging look, but his older brother just quickened his pace. 

“Come on. The back entrance is just down that alley.”

Caranthir glanced back over his shoulder. “Hurry up, Tyelko, what’s taking you so long?” 

Celegorm had paused, perusing the crowd, and his hands were slowly curling into fists at his sides. “Fucking _scum_. Is that Mablung?” 

Caranthir drew up and peered across the street. “Who’s that? Oh, that twerp from the rugby team? Yeah, looks like it.” 

“ _Motherfucker._ ” Celegorm let out a snarl and started forward, but a long arm caught him around the waist and pulled him back. 

“Don’t even think about it.” 

Celegorm twisted against Maedhros’ grip, furious. “Are you kidding me, Nelyo? I played with that kid for four years, and he’s out here with a sign calling our father a murderer! How the fuck are you okay with that?”

“It has nothing to do with what’s okay,” said Maedhros tightly. “Our mother’s show opens tonight. She’s been planning this for a year or more, it’s already been put off once – this is more important than getting back at some petty kid. _We are not going to ruin this for her_.” 

Celegorm bared his teeth, but stopped fighting. Maedhros released him. 

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll behave. But once the show is over – ” He wheeled and strode off down the alley, ahead of his brothers. “ – I make no promises.”

 

* * *

 

 

The gallery had been transformed. The space had been subdivided into four rooms, each uniquely lit. In the first, blue silk draped from lanterns on the ceiling turned the room into a submarine grotto, while in the second, the light was dappled and golden green, like sunlight slanting through the forest. The third room was stark and open, full of the light whistle of wind from an unseen source. In the fourth, scarlet and gold lights flickered like flames, and people hesitated before entering, shooting sidelong glances at Fëanor. 

Throughout the rooms, Nerdanel’s dancers whirled. Faceless statues of pure movement spun through the space, some frozen half through walls, others pulling themselves from the ground. The statues were gestural to the point of abstraction, ghostly maenads in the midst of a wild bacchanal, arms uplifted, heads thrown back, feet pulling themselves from the floor. 

Lórien flitted from room to room, making sure that each guest was equipped with a flute of champagne and his excited voice in their ears. 

“ _Dance of the Elements_ , yes. From procreation to birth to death to rebirth, no? Such _expression_ … Yes, thank you, we worked with the artist for months on the installation concept. In order to get the lighting just right we had to have lamps custom designed by a specialist and they took more than nine months to complete…” 

“A ‘specialist’,” said Curufin, and sneered. “He’s too afraid to even give credit to father.” 

“Go figure,” said Celegorm, leaning against a wall in the corner. He drained his champagne glass and flagged down the waiter. “Yo. Refill.” He replaced his empty flute with a full one, considered a moment and took another. “Cheers.” The waiter drifted away, carefully expressionless, and Celegorm made a face at his back. “Don’t judge me, asshole, you’re wearing a cummerbund.” 

“Double-fisting champagne is not classy,” said Curufin, relieving Celegorm of one of the glasses. “And I know how much sophistication matters to you.” 

“You’re underage,” said Celegorm, watching as Curufin took a long sip. 

“Since when do you care about things like that?” asked Curufin, cradling the glass as he cupped one elbow in his other hand. “And I think I’m allowed one drink at my mother’s _wildly_ successful gallery opening.” 

Across the room, Nerdanel was surrounded by admirers. The color was high on her cheeks as she laughed and answered questions, looking delighted as Estë expounded on their process for the installation. Standing somewhat back from the crowd was Fëanor, dark and laconic, drawing gazes even as he watched his wife silently, a slight smile playing around his lips. 

“How long do we have to be here?” said Celegorm, finishing his second glass of champagne and checking his watch. “This is so not where I want to be on a Friday night.” 

“I think at least until ten,” began Curufin and then froze, his eyes fixed on something over Celegorm’s shoulder. 

“What?” Celegorm glanced at him. “Is Moryo doing something embarrassing? Did the Ambarussa break one of mom’s statues? Why do you look like you’ve seen a  - ” 

“Oh, shit,” said Curufin quietly, and Celegorm turned around. 

“What the fuck are you – ” 

A woman was standing behind him. She was almost as tall as he was, slender and olive-skinned, her dark hair caught back from her face in a sleek chignon. She wore dark green that matched her eyes, and a skirt that revealed long legs made even longer by black heels. 

It took Celegorm a minute to process why Curufin was so still beside him, a frozen, horrified expression on his face. 

Then she spoke. “Hello, Tyelkormo,” she said, in a low, rich voice, lightly accented. “I’m Vána. Oromë’s told me so much about you.” And she held out her hand.

- 

The room was anything but quiet, but for Celegorm, it seemed that a pool of silence was spreading out from the three of them like a lengthening shadow. A small, fearful part of him, the part of him he knew and loathed, cried out for him to flee. The blustering, red-hot part of his brain that so often got him into fights or sidelined from the pitch roared for him to curse and break things and – and, what? So instead he stood dumbly, and thought only, _Of course she’s beautiful._  

Celegorm may have been at a loss for words, but Curufin wasn’t. “What do you want?” he asked brusquely. 

Vána turned hypnotic green eyes on him. “Ah. You must be Tyelkormo’s brother. Not much resemblance between you, but then,” she smiled and nodded across the room, “you do so look like your father.” 

“What do you want?” asked Curufin again, drawing closer to Celegorm. 

“To talk, nothing more,” said Vána. “I think Tyelkormo and I are owed a conversation.”

“I don’t think,” Curufin began, but Celegorm found his voice at last. 

“It’s okay, Curvo,” he said, and cleared his voice against the rasp in it. “It’s fine.” 

“But – ” Curufin looked agitated. “Don’t you – ” 

“I’ll come find you when I’m done,” said Celegorm, and handed over his empty glass. “Go talk to Moryo before he incites an incident in the art community.” He smiled, knowing how fake it must look, as Curufin took his glass mutely and nodded. 

Celegorm turned to Vána. “Let’s get this over with.”

 

-

 

The backroom was empty but for some folding chairs and a cooler where the champagne was chilling. Celegorm turned to face Vána, arms crossed over his chest, hoping he looked more confident than he felt. Before her composed elegance he felt bulky and awkward, and as she studied him with those compelling eyes, he felt horribly young and wrong-footed. He also realized, with a sense of dreadful self-awareness, that she was precisely the type of woman he would drunkenly and futilely hit on in a bar. _Out of my league._  

“You wanted to talk,” he said abruptly, to break the silence. “What do you want to say?” 

“I think you are as Oromë described you,” she said, still studying him. “Hasty to jump, no? But a very handsome boy. I can see why he fell for you. ” 

Celegorm felt his temper flare. _I don’t want to think about why he fell for me._ “Oh, are we making observations? In that case, I think you’re pretty damn sneaky, cornering me at my mother’s show where you know I can’t make a scene. That was clever.” 

Vána laughed quietly and pulled out two folding chairs. “I think I will sit. You as well?” She gestured to the other chair, but he shook his head. “Very well. I shall sit alone.” She seated herself, legs crossed, and looked up at him. Struck by the awkwardness of him looming over her, Celegorm yielded and dropped down in the other chair. 

Vána smiled. “Much better. In answer to your accusation – no, I did not come here with the intent of accosting you. I am an old friend of Irmo and Estë’s, and I have been hearing for weeks of their new exhibit. But I did suspect I might encounter you here, I will not lie.” 

“Right.” Celegorm forced himself to keep still, shifting uncomfortably in the chair. “So what, now you have the opportunity, what are you going to do? Curse me out? Tell me to fuck off and keep my hands off your man?” 

Vána was laughing. “Hasty indeed! Child, I intend nothing of the sort.” 

“Don’t call me that,” snapped Celegorm. “And good. Because you’d be wasting your breath, lady, my hands are off. I’m _out_.” 

“I know,” said Vána, and she stopped laughing. “And from what Oromë has told me, it is because of me that you have left.” 

“No fucking shit,” said Celegorm. “A wife he never told me about is kind of a mood killer, you know? But for the record,” he went on, unable to stop himself, “I never saw a fucking trace of you in that house. Not a goddamn hint. So – ” 

“That is because I do not live there,” said Vána. “I travel much of the year, and when I am back, I live elsewhere.” She smiled again. “With my girlfriend, in fact.” 

There was a silence. “I’m sorry,” said Celegorm at last, “Did I just black out, or did you say – ” 

“My girlfriend,” said Vána again. “We have been together three years now. Nienna is her name, and she is a very talented psychologist, not to mention a goddess for putting up with me, most tolerant of my wayward lifestyle, as I flit forever off to parts unknown.” 

“Wait,” said Celegorm. “You have a _girlfriend_.” 

“And a separate house, yes.” Vána crossed her legs. “Dear child – Oromë and I have what – ah, I believe the phrase is, ‘a marriage of convenience’?” 

“Oh,” said Celegorm blankly. 

“It is like this,” Vána said. “I am not from here, you may have guessed, though I am told my English has improved marvelously in the past ten years. I travel in and out of the country with great frequency. However, I am also a reporter for a news agency that unfortunately has a name that sounds most distressing to American ears and I was growing tired of being stopped at customs and being asked when I was ‘recruited’ to Al Jazeera. Under suspicions of, I don’t know,” she waved a hand impatiently, “terrorist espionage or some such. Changing my last name helped some, but what I really needed was a Green Card. And my dear friend Oromë from university – he graciously offered to help.” 

“You said it was a marriage of convenience,” said Celegorm, trying to keep up. “What was in it for him?” 

“Ah,” Vána raised her eyebrows. “You have not met his parents, have you?” 

Celegorm snorted. “Are you crazy? No, of course not.”

“Well, only his mother is alive, now. But they were very conservative, and it was their dearest dream to see him marry before they died. Our wedding made them most happy, I believe – an admittedly not insignificant deception, but one we knew would not have to last long. They were still in Hawai’i, after all, so it is not like they could drop by unannounced. His father passed three years ago, and his mother is very ill. But at least they shall both have lived out their lives believing that well-intentioned lie we crafted for them.” She tilted her head. “Perhaps we went too far. But then, Oromë, steady as he is, does not always exercise good judgment.” She nodded to Celegorm, and smiled slightly. “Seducing his star player, for example.” 

“For the last time,” said Celegorm, irritated, “ _I_ seduced him, and – hang on.” He broke off. “So you’re telling me – he’s not _really_ married? You don’t love him?” 

“He is married, though only technically, and on the contrary, I do love him very much. But my heart – it is not his, and the reverse is clearly true as well.” She leaned forward and patted him on the knee. “He is quite mad about you, Tyelkormo, despite all my scoldings reprimanding him for falling in love with a twenty-three year old.” 

Celegorm swallowed. “You think he loves me?” he asked, and was embarrassed at the crack in his voice. 

“Ai, _boys_.” Vána sighed and leaned back in her chair. “But of course he loves you, my hasty one.” She wagged a finger playfully. “And if you had let him speak for just five minutes, instead of storming off like you did, he could have explained all. Of course he should have said something earlier, and fear not, I took him to task for that. Because of course you’d find out eventually, and then, what a shock if you weren’t prepared! But this all could have been avoided if you had listened a moment.” 

“Oh, fuck,” said Celegorm, and put his head in his hands. “I am such a jackass.” 

“Perhaps,” said Vána, and she stood, smoothing her skirt over her legs. “But not such a jackass it cannot be fixed, I think.” 

“That’s why you came here?” said Celegorm, raising his face from his hands. “To tell me, and – get us back together?” 

“More or less,” Vána said. “But also to warn you, young as you are, against breaking my friend’s heart.” She patted Celegorm lightly on the head. “Be good to him, Tyelkormo, or we shall have _words_.” She checked her watch. “I must go – I told Nienna I wouldn’t be out past ten. Should you reconcile with Oromë, and I expect you will, we should get dinner together the four of us some time.” 

“That would be weird,” said Celegorm, but grinned despite himself. 

“We are adults,” said Vána, and tugged her blouse straight. “The secret we keep is that the weirdness never goes away.” She leaned down and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “It was a pleasure meeting you, though I rather dominated the conversation, a bad habit I have. Tell your mother her work is a revelation. And oh,” she half turned, “I worked with the labor unions for many years. But I do not believe the things they say about your father.” And with a last smile, she departed.

 

* * *

 

 

Curufin was pacing the gallery impatiently, twirling an empty champagne glass in his hands, though he dropped it hastily onto a table as his father’s eyes fell on him. 

“Where _are_ you, Turko?” he muttered to himself. “What could be taking so long?” 

He’d just started what felt like his dozenth circuit around the gallery when he spotted a flash of pale hair at the door. 

“Tyelko!” He hurried over. “What _took_ you so long? Are you – ?” But he stopped as Celegorm turned to look at him, going silent at the accusation in his brother’s eyes. 

“You sneaky little fucker. Did you know?” 

“Know what?” 

“It isn’t a real marriage!” snarled Celegorm, and Curufin’s eyes went wide. 

“What?”

“It’s a Green Card marriage, and a conservative parents marriage, and they don’t even live together – and she has a girlfriend – and you couldn’t have found _any_ of this in all your poking and prying?” 

“I – Tyelko, no,” said Curufin automatically. “If – I had no idea. If it was like you say, of course none of that stuff would show up online, it’s all – ” 

“Bullshit,” said Celegorm. “I know you. You do more than dig around on the internet. You stalked me to his _house_ for fuck’s sake. She lives one town over with her girlfriend. I bet you could’ve figured that out in a couple hours of digging.” 

“But I _didn’t_ , Turko, I didn’t know – ” 

“Whatever,” said Celegorm coldly. “You didn’t want to know. You just wanted to get me away from him as fast as you could. As long as I wasn’t happy, that’s all you cared.” 

“No!” cried Curufin. “That’s not – I want you to be happy, I do, I just don’t trust that–”

“Well, tough shit,” said Celegorm, and he turned to leave. “Because I’m going to his house now to see if he’ll take me back, jackass that I am.”

“You can’t!” Curufin caught Celegorm’s arm, and Celegorm looked down at him, murder in his eyes. “I don’t trust him, Turko, he’ll hurt you again…” 

“Worse than the hurt you’ve caused me?” Celegorm shook himself loose. “Nice try, but see if I listen to you again, you little rat.” He pulled free and vanished into the crowd at the door.  

Curufin stood still, his fingers curling and uncurling, until a light touch on his shoulder had him starting up. 

“Curufinwë?” 

He looked up into his father’s face, and resisted the urge to cling to him like a small child. “Yes?” 

“I think we’re about ready to go. Fetch your brothers.” Fëanor frowned, his hand warm on Curufin’s shoulder. “Is something wrong?” 

“No,” said Curufin, though his voice felt thick in his throat. “No, everything’s fine.” 

Fëanor smiled slightly, and his usually cold grey eyes seemed to light from within. “Did we achieve the night of minimal drama your mother requested?”

“Oh, yes,” said Curufin, trying to keep the bitterness from his voice. “Certainly.” 

Fëanor regarded him with some skepticism, but he turned away as Nerdanel hurried over, glowing with pleasure. “My boys!” She held out her arms and Fëanor caught her up in an embrace, laying a kiss on her lips that left her flushed and laughing as she swatted at him. “Behave!” she scolded, smiling. “Save it for later.” 

“Gross,” said Caranthir, materializing at Curufin’s side. “Nice show, though, Ma.” 

Nerdanel beamed. “It was, wasn’t it? And guess what?” She leaned close, and whispered, “Aulë is commissioning a piece from me! Of course I’m already sizzling with acid over messing it up and giving him some lumpy monstrosity – ” 

“Wasn’t that what you majored in in college?” said Fëanor, scanning the room for his other sons, and Nerdanel kicked lightly at him. 

“Hush. You know my focus was ‘buxom nudes with fruit’.” 

“Ah, yes. And how I appreciated when you’d invite those buxom nudes over after they sat for you…” 

“Hush!” she said again, laughing. “Where is Maitimo? And the little chickens? My goodness, we only have two out of seven, Fëanaro, that’s a terrible rate of retention. Makalaurë? Tyelkormo?” 

“Tyelko headed out,” said Curufin mechanically. “He had…somewhere to be.” 

Fëanor narrowed his eyes. “And where could he have to be that was more important than being here?” 

 _I will not lie for him anymore_ , Curufin told himself fiercely, and squared his shoulders. “I suggest you ask him.” 

“I will,” said Fëanor, and gave Curufin another piercing look. “Now, go get your brothers and we can leave.”

“Yes, father,” murmured Curufin, and trailed after Caranthir to find the others. Behind him, he could hear Nerdanel’s laugh ring out once more as Fëanor pulled her in for a kiss.


	14. Slip of the tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Celegorm and Aredhel catch up on current events and debate technique.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Just a bunch of self-indulgent conversation; really wasn’t supposed to be enough to count as a full chapter. Real plot happens next chapter (probably). Sometimes I worry that all I can do is write dialogue between dorks…  
> 1\. Warnings for…Celegorm and Aredhel not having filters? Discussion of oral sex?

“Ha! I _knew_ you wouldn’t actually get the locks changed.” 

Celegorm breezed triumphantly into Aredhel’s apartment, where she was sprawled on the coach watching ‘Cake Boss’ in her pajamas. She glanced up as he came over to the couch and looked down at her, hands on his hips. 

“Bitch, those are _my_ boxers.” 

Aredhel looked down at herself in some surprise. “Oh.” She lifted one leg considering. “I think I came by them fairly.”

“If by that you mean I left them here and you just never gave them back…” 

“You forfeited them.” Aredhel wiggled her toes. “And they look better on me. They’re too tight on you. Haven’t you heard about what that does to your sperm count? Don’t you worry about motility?” 

Celegorm looked vaguely horrified. “Jesus.” 

“Anyway.” Aredhel pushed herself up and hung her arms over the back of the couch. “I haven’t seen you in ages. How was your mom’s show?” 

Celegorm looked blank for a moment and then recognition dawned on his face. “Oh! Right. Yeah, I think it was successful. So I heard.” 

“You heard?” Aredhel cocked her head. “Weren’t you _there_?” 

“Sure. I mean, technically.” Celegorm swung himself over the back of the couch and dropped down next to Aredhel. “But I’m not gonna lie, I wasn’t _really_ paying attention.” 

“Dude, you’re the worst. It was your mom’s opening night!” 

“Seriously, Ireth, it wasn’t my fault.” He nudged her. “Guess who I ran into at the gallery.” 

Aredhel looked confused for a moment and then her eyes widened. “Oh no. Not – Oh my god, what did he say?” 

Celegorm shook his head. “It wasn’t Oromë.”

“Then who was it?”

“It was his wife.” 

Aredhel gaped. “Wh – Oh _shit_. Oh shit, Tyelko. Did you hide? I would hide. Did you run the fuck away? I would have run like hell.” 

“She wanted to talk.” 

“Oh _fuck_.” Aredhel pressed her fingers to her mouth. “Did she make a scene? Did she threaten you? Cuss you out? _Slap_ you?” 

But Celegorm was laughing at her. “You watch too many movies.” 

“I’m serious, Tyelko, what happened?” 

Celegorm shrugged. “She’s a pretty cool lady. Seriously hot, too.” 

Aredhel dropped her hands and gave him a look of pure exasperation. “Are you fucking _kidding_ me? Why do you – How can you – You’re _unbelievable._ ” 

“Relax, Irissë.” Celegorm’s grin widened. “Let me finish. Man, you are so impatient. We talked, and I was – ah, I bit defensive starting out, until she went on to tell me about her girlfriend.” 

“Of course you were defensive. Wait. Her – Did you say – ? _Girlfriend_?” 

Celegorm laughed outright. “Fuck, this is too much fun. I never see you this confused.” 

“EXPLAIN.” 

Celegorm spread his hands. “It’s a Green Card marriage. She’s foreign. Oromë’s an old friend; he helped her out.” 

“NO FUCKING WAY.” 

“Yup. They don’t even live in the same house.” 

Aredhel fell over backward and flopped onto the ground. “I can’t even keep up with your life anymore, Tyelko. So – this isn’t what you thought it was. He wasn’t lying to – well, he kinda was. But not in the way you thought. So, what? Is this a good thing?” She pushed herself upright again and looked at him. “This is a good thing, right?” 

“Yeah.” Celegorm smiled, a bit ruefully. “And if I hadn’t flipped out at him he probably could have explained that to me.” 

“You are such a  - ”

“Jackass, I know.”

Aredhel frowned, thinking. “Did Curvo know this when he told you about the marriage thing?”

Celegorm’s expression darkened. “He says he didn’t. I’m not sure I believe him. Either way, he butted the fuck into my life and I nearly messed up the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

“He was probably just trying to protect you,” said Aredhel gently. 

“He’s five years younger than me, where does he get off thinking it’s his job to protect me?” 

“You _are_ kind of an idiot prone to destructive tendencies.”

Celegorm waved a hand. “Granted. Still, he’s…kinda frightening to have involved in your life. I never know what he’s going to pull next or what his motivations are. He’s so much smarter than me it’s scary.” 

“Well, that’s not hard. But what, he just doesn’t trust Oromë?” 

“He just doesn’t want me to be happy,” said Celegorm blackly. “See if I ever listen to him again. The little…” 

“You gotta admit, it’s could be a little worrying watching you end up with a guy who had an affair with you while you were still in school and then lied to you about being married, even if it was just fake married.” 

“He _ended_ our affair while I was still in school,” said Celegorm defensively. “And he didn’t lie, just…omitted. And believe me, I gave him hell for that.”

“He took six months to end the affair, dude, that’s not exactly exercising restraint.” 

“Not his fault.” Celegorm tossed his head. “You better believe I didn’t make it easy for him to stop sleeping with me.” 

Aredhel snorted. “ ‘Easy’ being the operative word when it comes to you.”

Celegorm crossed his arms. “I am _not_ –” 

“Oh my god, Tyelko, you are the _easiest_. If I jumped you right now, in the midst of talking about the man you love, there’s like a sixty percent chance you’d have sex with me.” 

Celegorm opened his mouth to protest, and then closed it looking sheepish. “Like, forty percent. Thirty five.” 

Aredhel patted him on the head. “It’s okay. You’re a slut. It works on you.” 

“OUCH.” 

“Nothing wrong with being slutty! I respect it. For a while there I profited from it. You’ve got game, son.” 

Celegorm pouted. 

Aredhel sighed. “I’m going to tell you this just once, but…” 

“Yes?” 

“…you may be easy but you are damn good in bed.” 

“HA!” Celegorm punched the air. “I knew it. Haven’t I always said?” 

Aredhel pinched the bridge of her nose. “And I KNOW I’m going to regret telling you this, because god knows your ego is already big enough, but…”

“But?” Celegorm leaned forward, grinning. “Go on.” 

“I got some of my best pussy eating technique from you.” 

“YES!” Celegorm leapt up and did a victory lap around the living room before collapsing to the ground. “HIGHEST PRAISE. I am a god. I can die happy now.” 

“For the record,” said Aredhel, stretching out next to him. “You may have given me my start, but I have now surpassed you. I could kick your ass in pussy eating. So to speak.” 

“Sure, sure,” said Celegorm, waving a hand dismissively. “This is still the best day of my life.” 

“Really. I want you to know that I’m better than you are now.”

“Uh huh.” 

“If you had a pussy, I’d prove it. Well, no, I wouldn’t. But still. There’s this thing I learned you can do with the broad side of your tongue that helps when her clit’s getting over-sensitized…” 

“I’m going to have you write this down for posterity,” said Celegorm. “Though it may not end up being super relevant to me, these days.”

“They’re important tricks to keep in your back pocket for any contingency,” said Aredhel. “Even if Oromë might not benefit from them.” 

Celegorm rolled over and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her over on top of him. “You are truly the best friend I could ask for, o goddess of cunnilingus. If I had to have a sham Green Card marriage with anyone, it would be you.” 

“Aw.” Aredhel grinned down at him and tugged his hair. “You’d be…in my top two.”

“What?” Celegorm looked highly offended. “I’m your _second choice_?” 

“Yeah, well, my first choice isn’t already married to anyone, and she’s hotter than you.” 

“No fair. Foul ball. Flag on the play. It’s not my fault Oromë’s already got a sham marriage on lock.” 

“Sucks to be you.” Aredhel pulled away, but not before leaning down and kissing him lightly on the lips. “I do love you though. And boy, are you lucky to have me.” 

“It’s true. Kiss me again.” 

“We’re both taken now, you realize.” 

“One more. For old times.” Celegorm smiled winningly up at her, his light hair spread out around his head like a halo. 

Aredhel relented and kissed him again, lingering a moment – for old times. 

Then she sat up and folded her arms. “And hey, I think you should make things up with your little brother. He meant well.” 

“If you say so,” said Celegorm dubiously. “I’m not so sure…”

Aredhel got up and wandered into the kitchen. “You staying for dinner?” 

“Depends on what’s for dinner.” 

Aredhel peered into the refrigerator. “Um. Lessee. Peas. And … hotdogs? And. Tequila.” 

“Perfect,” said Celegorm, and rose to his feet. “Let’s play some house then, wifey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2\. Aredhel’s refrigerator contents sound a lot like mine.


	15. Call my bluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evasion and interaction, all in the kitchen, because that’s how I stage this shit.

“Now bear in mind,” said Lalwen, in a low, serious voice, “the psychological implications at play here. Am I bluffing? What’s my motivation? There’s no need to rush, no need to hasten your play – this bears consideration. Take your time.” 

“Go fish,” said Caranthir, and cracked his gum. 

“Damn it,” said Lalwen, and drew. 

It was a hot day, for September, and the light wind coming through the open windows was a welcome relief in the sun-warm kitchen. 

Caranthir waved his cards like a fan, stirring a breeze against his hot skin. “I told you we should have played poker.”

“I don’t play poker with you and your brothers anymore.” 

“What? I’m not even that good, I lose to Curvo all the time… Got any Kings?” 

“Exactly. I wouldn’t stand a chance against you. You’re used to playing the likes of your little brother, the most subtle and scheming genius this family’s seen since your father.” Lalwen handed over two cards. 

“Well, then, you should have an advantage just like I do…” 

“I didn’t _grow up_ with your father, you forget. I was just his bratty little half-sister; he was out of the house before I was even born, and having babies before I was out of preschool, so I couldn’t learn to – ” 

She was interrupted by the front door bursting open and a grey blur tearing into the kitchen. 

“ _What_ -” 

Lalwen hastily pulled her feet off the floor as the grey blur shot under the table and rocketed around for a while, letting off excited yips and loud snuffling noises. 

“Yo, Dog, where you going?” Celegorm came into the kitchen, his hair wild and wind-tousled. “Aw, buddy, what are you doing under there?” He squatted and clicked his tongue. “C’mere, boy.” 

The blur emerged at speed from under the table, overturning a chair in the process, and plowed into Celegorm’s chest, nearly knocking him of his feet as he laughed. 

“What the hell is that?” Caranthir demanded. 

“It’s a dog, dumbass,” said Celegorm, standing up with his arms full of what, once slowed down, appeared indeed to be a dog. “You like?” 

“I would only know it’s a dog because that’s what you called it,” said Caranthir. “Tell me that’s not what you’re naming it.” 

“He came with a name,” said Celegorm, as the dog licked eagerly at his face and squirmed until he put it back down. “Huan. But ‘Dog’ works just as well.” 

Lalwen got up from her chair and crouched on the floor, scrutinizing the animal. It padded over to her happily and let her ruffle its ears. “He’s young, huh?” 

“Still a puppy,” said Celegorm cheerfully. 

“A puppy?” Caranthir looked deeply skeptical. “What’s he going to grow into, a dinosaur? He’s fucking enormous.” 

“He’s an Irish Wolfhound,” said Lalwen, still examining Huan, who was submitting to her study with good grace. “Purebred, by the looks of him, and I bet he’s got a killer pedigree. Which means he must have cost a _fortune_.” She shot a look at her nephew. “How did you come by this pup, Tyelko?” 

“Bought ‘im,” said Celegorm.

“Yeah, right,” said Lalwen, as Caranthir laughed. “Did you finally get a job none of us have heard about? I _know_ your dad doesn’t give you kids that kind of pocket money, and my impression is that you spend most of the money you have on beer and weed.” 

“Accurate,” said Caranthir. 

“Shut up, Moryo, I buy my weed from _you_ ,” said Celegorm. “And anyway, I...got a deal on Huan. It was, ah, a discount.” 

“A discount?” Lalwen and Caranthir exchanged dubious glances.

“Yeah. He was – on sale.” 

“Why, did he not come with all parts included?” Caranthir was grinning, but Lalwen shook her head. 

“You’d better hope he _doesn’t_ have all parts included. Has he been neutered? What about his shots?” 

“All taken care of,” said Celegorm, waving a hand. “The seller liked me, what can I say? Don’t worry about it.” 

“That always makes me nervous,” said Lalwen, just as Caranthir said, “Where have we heard _that_ one before?”

“Just chill out and accept the dog,” said Celegorm, as Huan barked happily. “Look, I have a friend who’s got an in, all right?” 

“That makes it sound even sketchier, you weirdo,” said Caranthir. “Is he a black market dog?” 

Celegorm looked annoyed, but was interrupted by the kitchen door opening again. Maglor came in, talking to a tall blond boy with a cheerful expression and very bright green eyes. 

“Makalaurë,” said Caranthir loudly, “Tyelko brought home a beast, check it out.” 

Maglor turned, just as Huan barreled into his legs, and his eyes widened in shock. “Tyelko – oh no, what _now_?” 

“Everyone needs to calm the fuck down, it’s just a _dog,_ ” said Celegorm, but was distracted by Maglor’s guest. “Glorfindel? What the hell are you doing here, man?” 

“Oh, right,” said Maglor, as Huan pushed him against the doorframe in his eagerness to greet him. “You two played together, didn’t you? I ran into him at the coffee shop – _ouch_ , that was the door handle – and we got talking. He thinks he knows someone who can be the accompanist for my upcoming project.” Huan reared up to place his paws on Maglor’s waist, and Maglor pushed helplessly at him. “I’ve been looking for a decent flautist for ages, and he says – ”

“Let me give you a hand,” said Glorfindel, laughing, and knelt beside Huan, tugging him back. “Oof, hello. You look familiar.” 

“It’s good to see you again,” said Celegorm, clapping Glorfindel on the back as he straightened up and Maglor went over to the sink to start scrubbing muddy paw prints off his jeans. “I hear you’re captain this year. Better you than one of those – ” 

“Don’t start,” said Glorfindel, grinning. “Coach expressly told us that anyone who started up that ‘class rivalry bullshit’ again would be kicked off the team. And he had his ‘don’t fucking test me’ face on when he said it – you remember that one – so I’m taking him seriously.” He looked down at Huan, who was sitting at Celegorm’s side now, tail wagging furiously. “Speaking of whom, is this one of his? It looks just like his dog.”

“Does it?” said Celegorm evasively. “I guess…” 

“Yeah, his dog was a show champ and all that, wasn’t it?” Glorfindel frowned, trying to remember. “I think Oromë said he lets his dog out as a – what do you call it, a stud? – sometimes. Did you get one of the puppies?” 

“I dunno,” said Celegorm. Caranthir and Maglor were both listening, twin looks of curiosity on their faces. “Maybe.” 

“Well, he looks just like Coach’s dog,” said Glorfindel, reaching down to scratch Huan’s head again. “Very cool. Anyway,” he said, turning back to Maglor, “I really should go, but here’s Ecthelion’s number and email address,” he scribbled briefly on a scrap of paper, “and I’ll tell him to expect to hear from you. I’m telling you, you won’t regret it, he’s _great_.” He smiled again and laid a hand on Celegorm’s shoulder. “It was good seeing you again. I’ll tell Coach I ran into you. You should come visit the team. I bet he’ll be glad to see you after all this time!” 

“Sure,” said Celegorm uncomfortably. Maglor and Caranthir were scrutinizing him again, and now Lalwen was too, looking from him to his brothers and back. 

“See you around,” said Glorfindel, oblivious to all this, and waving over his shoulder as he left. “Thanks for the coffee, Maglor, I’ll – oops, excuse me.” He dodged out of the way before he ran straight into the girl coming up the front steps. 

“Your house really is like a train station,” said Lalwen, leaning against the table next to Caranthir and nudging him with her shoulder. “Do you always have this many visitors?” 

Caranthir ignored her, his eyes brightening as the girl slipped through the doorway and looked around. “Haleth!” 

Haleth raised a hand in greeting and started into the kitchen. “Sorry I’m late, there was – ” She broke off, her eyes falling on Lalwen. She froze. 

“It’s okay,” said Caranthir. “We were just – Oh, I guess I should introduce you. This is my Aunt Irimë – ”

“Lalwen,” said Lalwen, and smiled crookedly, her eyes fixed on Haleth. 

“Lalwen,” said Haleth, sounding a little dazed. “I mean, right. I’m Haleth.” 

Caranthir frowned, looking between them.

“We’ve met,” said Lalwen lightly, and held out her hand. Haleth took it mutely. “She climbs at my gym.”

“Yes,” said Haleth.  She seemed unable to articulate more than this, and Caranthir drew his brows together.

“You climb?” he said, and Haleth nodded. “I didn’t know that.”

“That’s because all we do is talk about school stuff when we’re together,” said Haleth, apparently regaining her tongue at last. “And fight about Ayn Rand.”

Lalwen laughed. “Oh _god_. You couldn’t pay me to sit in on those fights. I’ve had Thanksgiving dinners with Moryo, I know how he gets.”

“You’re – you’re his aunt?” Haleth seemed to be having a hard time looking at Lalwen straight on without blushing. “You don’t seem old enough…”

“Half-aunt,” said Lalwen, draping an arm around Caranthir’s neck. “I’m Fëanor’s baby half-sister. Moryo’s oldest brother is only about three years younger than me.”

“Oh.” Haleth examined the toes of her shoes.

Caranthir glanced between them again, feeling as if he’d been somehow left out of a key part of the conversation. “We’ve got a project to work on,” he said, and Lalwen released him and clapped her hands together.

“Right! I should be heading out anyway.” She kissed Caranthir on the cheek. “Say ‘bye to your brothers for me. I’ll try to swing by later in the week with take-out. And keep an eye on Tyelko, will you? That kid’s acting even weirder than usual. Good luck with living with both him _and_ a dog.” She swung her bag over her shoulder and nodded to Haleth. “Nice seeing you again.” 

“I’ll met you upstairs in minute,” said Haleth quickly, to Caranthir. “I need to – I think I forgot to lock my bike. Hang on.” She dashed out of the door after Lalwen.

 

-

 

“ _Lalwen_. Wait!”

Lalwen turned at her whisper.

 “Why didn’t you _tell_ me you were Caranthir's aunt?”

Lalwen smiled. “I didn’t know you were his friend, Haleth. I just thought you were that pretty girl from the gym. We didn’t exactly exchange much information about ‘known acquaintances’…”

Haleth blushed again. “You won’t tell him, will you?”

 

-

 

They stood together on the lawn, talking quietly, Haleth shifting lightly from one foot to the other. Upstairs, Huan’s barking joined the sound of Maglor’s music. Usually, Curufin would be slamming out of his room to yell at everyone to keep the noise down, but today, like every other day of the past week, his door remained firmly closed and locked. He and Celegorm were pointedly ignoring each other for reasons that their brothers couldn’t get out of them, and Maedhros, fed up at last, had told everyone to stop trying.

_“They’ll get over it, they always do,” he’d said, and shut himself in his room._

_“He’s brooding again,” Caranthir had said, and Maglor had sighed._

_“I think it’s because Findekáno hasn’t been around much recently, but I don’t know…”_

Caranthir stood by the window, arms folded, a dark frown on his face as he watched his aunt talk quietly to Haleth. 

_Everyone in this damn family is keeping secrets._


	16. Sit back and look for the warnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caranthir sleuths about. Questions are not quite answered. And we meet Galadriel’s hippie boyfriend and reunite with the rugby team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. (Relatively) long update, y’all. Consider it my apology.  
> 1\. Sorry for the delay; I got distracted first by [Maedhros and Fingon breaking up four years ago](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2271618/chapters/4990956), and then by…basically everything else. I was avoiding this story, I’m going to be honest. But I’m back on track, I think. Ideas are happening.

Caranthir generally avoided the university practice fields if he could help it. They always brought back unpleasant memories of getting kicked out of rec league soccer as a child – _It was just for excessive biting_ , he thought in disgust. _Like that sort of innovation shouldn’t be_ praised _in a game where you’re not allowed to use your hands._

But today he suppressed his discomfort and bee-lined for where the rugby team was warming up.

To his surprise, he wasn’t alone in watching the practice. Galadriel was sitting on a blanket on the sidelines, deeply absorbed in a large textbook, while next to her a pale-haired boy with a feather tucked behind his ear was bent over and knitting busily on what looked like a very large jumper. Or perhaps it was a poncho; Caranthir couldn’t tell.

“Artanis,” said Caranthir, dropping down next to her without preamble. “What are you doing here?”

“Hm?” Galadriel looked up and blinked at him. “Oh, hello Carnistir. I’ve been meaning to tell you to congratulate your mother for me.”

“For what?”

“For getting that commission from Aulë.”

Caranthir frowned. “That’s…that’s not exactly public knowledge. I didn’t think she’d told anyone outside of the family…”

“Of course not.” Galadriel smiled. “But nevertheless, congratulate her for me.”

“Sure,” said Caranthir, distracted by Galadriel’s companion, who was counting stitches in his bulky sweater-poncho. “Hey, is that your own pattern?”

“Oh, right,” said Galadriel, laying down her book. “You remember my boyfriend, don’t you? Tele – ”

“Celeborn, please,” said the pale-haired boy, looking up with an amiable smile. “Yes, it’s my own pattern, but I’m not sure the cables are working. Carnistir, was it? I think we took Intro to Philosophy together.”

Caranthir squinted, trying to remember. “Uh, I don’t know if I...” Recognition hit. _That group of hippie kids who sat in the front row and asked all the questions about free will…_ “I sold you pot in the hallway outside our classroom.”

Galadriel rolled her eyes and Celeborn nodded, looking pleased to be remembered. “You struck a very fair bargain.”

 _Not really,_ thought Caranthir _, but you and your friends were either too good-natured or too naïve to haggle_. “Thanks,” he said aloud.

“We’re here because we’re meeting Celeborn’s cousin – or is it half cousin? Step cousin? – after practice,” said Galadriel.

“Beleg is my mother’s brother-in-law’s stepson,” said Celeborn, casting off the final row of his poncho.

“I see what you mean about the cables,” said Caranthir, studying the garment. “They’re a little formal for that style, aren’t they?”

“I told you a sweater would be more practical,” said Galadriel, drifting back to her book. “Oh look, here comes Beleg.”

A tall boy whose bangs kept falling into his eyes jogged over, smiling warmly. “Celeborn! It’s good to see you. We’ll be done in an hour or so – are you okay to wait?”

“No problem,” said Celeborn. “We’ve got things to keep us entertained.” He pulled the poncho over his head and held it out in front of him, looking for loose threads. “Oh, and do you know–?”

“Caranthir, sure,” said Beleg, and held out his hand. “You’re one Celegorm’s brothers. I’m – ”

“Beleg Cúthalion,” said Caranthir, not taking his hand. “You’re a friend of Mablung’s, aren’t you?”

Beleg’s eyes flickered, but his smile didn’t falter. “Yes.”

Caranthir sneered.Then, remembering belatedly that he was supposed to be here reconnoitering, forced himself to be civil. He stuck out his hand, awkwardly. “Good to see you.”

Beleg shook Caranthir’s hand with good grace. “How’s Celegorm?”

“Fine,” said Caranthir, and asked quickly. “Hey, that’s a big dog your coach has. What is it, a wolfhound?”

Beleg looked over his shoulder, apparently baffled at this swift change of subject. Oromë had cupped his hands to his mouth and was thundering some order out over the field. The great grey dog lay on the grass by his side and watched everything with keen interest.

“Nahar? Yes, I think he’s a wolfhound…”

“Pretty impressive looking dog,” said Caranthir. “Does…does it have any puppies ever?”

“Well, it’s male,” said Beleg, looking even more confused. “But I think Oromë breeds him occasionally. I’ve heard the puppies are like thousands of dollars each.”

“Hm,” said Caranthir. He stared closely at the dog. It certainly looked tremendously like Huan. But he knew for a fact that Celegorm had $150 in his bank account and certainly couldn’t afford a thousand-dollar plus pedigree dog.

“Any other questions?” asked Beleg politely. One of his teammates was jogging over to the sidelines, probably to tell him to come back to the field.

“Nope,” said Caranthir, and smiled. Beleg looked vaguely unsettled, like many people when confronted with Caranthir’s smile, but his attention was caught by his teammate laying a hand on his shoulder. He looked around, and his face lit up.

“Glorfindel is wondering what you’re doing, Beleg,” said the other boy. He was dark-haired and striking, with intense grey eyes under strong black brows. He wasn’t an imposing figure, and looked to be just 18 or 19, but Caranthir got the impression that everything had just shifted slightly as if falling into orbit around the newcomer. Certainly Beleg was looking at him as if that were true.

“I’ll be back in a second,” he was saying. “My cousin stopped by, and then this – ” he gestured to Caranthir, “ – is Celegorm’s brother. You never met Celegorm, but – ”

“Oh, yeah,” said the dark-haired boy, his gaze falling on Caranthir, who felt suddenly a little uncomfortable. “He’s the one Coach talks about all the time. The one who broke his leg. The one who used to fight with your friend.”

“That’s right,” said Beleg, brightly. “Actually, Caranthir, Mablung and I saw your brother recently.”

“You did?” said Caranthir. “I thought he hated you two – Uh, no offense.”

Beleg flushed a little, but shook his head. “None taken. I mean – we didn’t actually _talk_ to him. We saw him outside Cuiviénen – I think your other brother works there? He was – well, he was yelling at Coach Aldaron, actually…” His voice faded, and he looked suddenly uncomfortable. “I’m not sure – I didn’t know they were still in touch.”

“They got in a fight?” asked the other rugby player, with the first interest he’d shown. “I thought Fëanorion was a favorite of his. What were they fighting about?”

“I don’t know,” said Beleg, looking even more uncomfortable, and like he wished he hadn’t mentioned it. “We weren’t – ”

“Cúthalion!” The bellow rang out so loudly, that all of them jumped, and both players looked quickly over their shoulders. “Turambar! Time enough for chitchat after practice. Get back to your drills! Start with core and work your way to sprints. Everyone else is already one circuit ahead.”

“Coming, Coach,” said Beleg, with a certain amount of relief, and turned smartly.

The dark-haired boy gave Caranthir one more piercing look, then followed Beleg back onto the pitch.

-

“I’ve never seen one of them before,” he said quietly to Beleg, as they dropped to the ground and started doing pushups.

“One of what?”

“One of that family.” Túrin nodded his head towards the lanky dark figure on the edge of the pitch. “Are they all like that? He looked like he was about to snap at any moment.”

“I think that’s just his face,” said Beleg fairly, ducking his head to wipe sweat from his brow. “Celegorm wasn’t like that. Well, he didn’t _look_ like that. I mean, he was belligerent, but – ”

“He sounded like a bit of a psycho.”

“Yes, but he wasn’t _angry_.” Beleg lowered himself to the ground and caught his breath. “He used to laugh before he punched you in the face.”

“Sounds like quite a guy,” muttered Túrin. “Is it true about their father?”

“What part?” asked Beleg warily, rolling over to start his sit-ups.

“I dunno. Did he really hire a goon to off his stepbrother?”

“They never proved he was connected,” said Beleg. “But I know a lot of people aren’t convinced.”

“Huh.” Túrin rolled over and began doing sit-ups alongside Beleg. “So you know that girl you’re seeing?”

“What?” Beleg paused, looking caught off guard by the sudden change in topic.

“Nellas. You’re dating her, right?”

“No!” Beleg shook his head rapidly, his hair falling into his face. “We’re not…We’re just friends. Housemates. I’m actually – ”

“Oh. I thought you were together. Anyway, she’s friends with Finduilas, right?”

“I think so,” said Beleg. “Why do you ask?”

“I’m going out with her Friday night. I thought maybe you could get the low-down on her from Nellas, but if you’re not with her,” Túrin shrugged. “No worries.”

“Oh,” said Beleg blankly.

“I guess I'd been thinking, if things went well with Finduilas, maybe we could double-date.” Túrin reddened a little, but grinned. “Chicks like that kind of thing, yeah? And we always have fun, right, so I thought it’d make the whole dating thing a little easier. But if she’s not your girlfriend… Maybe I can set you up with someone?”

“Right,” said Beleg. He wasn’t looking at Túrin anymore.

Túrin frowned at him. “You’re falling behind, Beleg.”

Beleg blinked, then slowly sank back to the ground. “So I am.” He resumed his sit-ups, and they continued on in silence.

-

Oromë came over to the sidelines, studying the onlookers appraisingly.

“Can I help you folks?” He folded his arms and looked down at them, his voice mild enough, but with a timbre that made them all unconsciously sit up a little straighter.

“We’re friends of Beleg's,” said Galadriel, as Celeborn brushed grass from his cut off jeans. “We were just waiting for him to finish. We didn’t mean to interrupt, Coach Aldaron.”

“I’m not,” said Caranthir. “A friend of Beleg's, I mean.”

Oromë’s amber eyes lit on him, and widened in sudden recognition.

“I’m Tyel – Celegorm’s brother,” said Caranthir. “I wanted to talk to you, actually.”

“I’m in the middle of leading a practice right now,” said Oromë, and Caranthir felt certain that there was an uneasiness in Oromë’s expression. “Can we talk once I’m done?”

“I’ll be quick,” said Caranthir, stolidly. “Did you give my brother a dog?”

Oromë blinked. “Did he tell you I did?”

“No, he just showed up with it. It looks an awful lot like that one, though,” said Caranthir, gesturing to the silent grey shadow at Oromë’s side.

Oromë’s glance flickered briefly to the dog, and then back to Caranthir. “Yes. I am occasionally given one of the puppies from the litter, and when I do, I try to pair them with good homes – People I know, generally. Tyelkormo helped me out in taking Huan from me. I am sure he will give the pup a good home.”

“Right,” said Caranthir. He almost asked another question, but changed his mind. He studied Oromë closely.  “So, you see my brother often?” 

“Not infrequently,” said Oromë, as the dog paced a little restlessly at his feet. “Look, I am very sorry to be so brusque, ah – You know, you never actually told me your name – ” 

“Doesn’t matter,” said Caranthir. 

“ – but I really need to get back to my team. Perhaps your brother can answer any other questions you might have.” Oromë smiled, pleasantly enough, before turning and walking back to his players. 

Caranthir watched him go. “Yeah,” he said. “Maybe he can.” 

“You’re sleuthing,” said Galadriel, looking at him with sudden intensity and Caranthir jumped, having momentarily forgotten she was there. “Aren’t you?”

Caranthir shrugged. “Maybe.”

“If I help you, will you tell me more?”

“No.”

Galadriel sighed. “Fine. I’ll help you anyway.”

“What makes you think you can?”

Celeborn laughed softly, and tucked a dandelion behind Galadriel’s ear. “If Artanis says she can help you, you should believe her.”

“Fine.” Caranthir scowled. “Actually, you might…Do you know Haleth?”

“Hm,” said Galadriel pensively, and tilted her head back. Her long hair brushed the grass as she swung her head, considering. “No, but my brothers know her friend Andreth. Well, Findaráto knows Andreth, and Aikanáro…knew Andreth. Why, what do you need to know?”

“I – ” Caranthir could feel himself flushing. “Uh. I know she’s not seeing anyone right now, but it would be good to know…I’d be interested if Andreth had heard her mention any hook-ups lately.”

“I see,” said Galadriel, and didn’t push for more.

“Specifically,” Caranthir pushed on, even though his cheeks were burning, “any hook-ups…with older women.”

Celeborn looked up curiously. “How much older are we talking? Over thirty? Over fifty? I’ve heard that mature women really -”

“Hush, Teleporno,” said Galadriel. “Your crush on the Dean was cute last semester, but now it's getting a bit old. So to speak.”

“You don’t know I’m talking about Melian,” said Celeborn, tossing another dandelion at her. “And besides, if I hadn’t been hanging around outside her office, I never would have met _you_. I just know that I’ve read articles that say women’s sex drives really kick in around – ”

“At any rate,” said Galadriel, quellingly. “I can find that out for you, Carnistir.”

“Can you?” Caranthir’s voice came out overly eager, and he cleared his throat roughly. “I mean, I’m just interested. Oh, look at the time,” he glanced skyward, not even bothering to affect a glance at his watch. “I should be going. Bye, Artanis. Celeborn. Um, try a smaller gauged needle next time if you don’t want it to be so bulky.”

Celeborn and Galadriel watched him walk away, hands in his pockets, and Celeborn put his head on the side contemplatively. “What was that about, do you think?”

“I think,” said Galadriel, stretching out and resting her head on Celeborn’s lap, “That he’s wondering if his friend has been hooking up with our Aunt.”

 

* * *

 

 

Celegorm was pacing his room, phone pressed to his ear. “Seriously? Another one?” He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry, babe. Occupational hazard dating of someone with five million brothers. But yeah, I’m sorry he accosted you at practice. Which one was it this time?” He groaned. “Yeah, that’s Moryo. What the _fuck_. What was he asking about?” 

Celegorm drummed his fingers against the windowsill. “Of course I haven’t told them. I mean, apart from Curvo. Of all things to tip them off, the damn _dog_ …” At his feet, Huan looked up curiously, cocking his head to the side. Celegorm reached down to ruffle his ears. “If Curvo knows, and Moryo suspects, then Nelyo’s not far behind. He’s not as smart as Curvo, but – Yeah.  No, of course I haven’t told my parents, you fuckin’ crazy? Have you told _yours_? Sorry, sorry. That wasn’t fair. But yeah, I don’t think – Hang on.” Celegorm looked up, listening, pressing the phone briefly to his shoulder. His brow furrowed as a familiar voice drifted up the stairs. “Listen, Oromë, I might have to go. Can I come over later? I can, like, 85% guarantee none of my brothers will show up. And I can 100% guarantee I’ll be naked within five minutes of arriving. Quicker, except you’ve said your neighbors have Opinions on guys showing up on your front step in the buff, right? Hah. I’m kidding, I’m _kidding…_ ” A knock came on the door, and Celegorm broke off. “I gotta go. Hey, but guess what? I lo-” The door opened, and Celegorm’s fingers fumbled for the ‘end’ button. “Shit.” 

Fëanor was standing in his doorway, eyebrows raised. 

 

* * *

 

Fëanor didn’t yell. 

When they were young, the scariest thing for his sons would be when Fëanor crouched down before them, quiet and intense, meeting their eyes directly, and asked them in a very soft voice if they knew why he was disappointed. 

Nerdanel sometimes lost it and yelled – mostly if something legitimately dangerous was going on, like Caranthir and Celegorm hoisting the Ambarussa in a laundry basket elevator to the third floor window. 

(“C’mon, mom, it was Curvo’s design!” “You expect to shift blame for this onto your five year old brother? That’s low, Moryo.” “IT WAS.” “Bedroom. Timeout. _Now_.”) 

Fëanor didn’t yell. 

It made him that much scarier, especially when they were teenagers, slipping back into the house after curfew. 

(“It’s past one, Nelyafinwë. Care to explain?” That patient, intense look. Fingers steepled. It was enough to send cold shivers down the spine.) 

Fëanor was intimidating enough that generally, his sons would bow before his disapproval and accept the consequences meekly. Shouting back at him? Not an option. 

Celegorm was the exception. 

Celegorm almost _always_ shouted back. While Celegorm was between the ages of fourteen and eighteen, the house was rocked on a near weekly basis by the furious fights between him and his father. Standing down was never in his nature – nor was moderation, self-control, or, for that matter, self-preservation. As a result, he existed in a semi-permanent state of being grounded and Fëanor existed in a semi-permanent state of exhaustion. 

By the time Celegorm left for college, their relationship had smoothed out somewhat with distance, and they got on well enough, both relieved not to be constantly treading on each other’s toes under the same roof. 

It was a moment of rather strong déjà vu, then, as Maedhros and Maglor tried to go about their morning routine in the kitchen while upstairs angry voices rose and fell. 

“Do you have any idea what this is about?” asked Maglor, at last, as they heard Celegorm swear loudly, and their father reply, levelly but no more quietly, “Watch your _language_ , Turkafinwë.” 

“I’m not sure,” said Maedhros uneasily, as Curufin wandered into the kitchen, apparently unruffled.

“Good coffee today,” he said brightly, pouring himself a cup. 

“Thanks,” said Maglor, “I used the Sumatran bean instead of the – ” 

“Do _you_ know what dad’s angry about?” interrupted Maedhros, who was watching Curufin carefully. 

“Haven’t a clue,” said Curufin, and flipped open the newspaper. “Hm. Looks like Nolofinwë’s stock has dropped yet again; what a _shame_. Seems like all those hours your boyfriend has been putting in haven’t made much of a difference, after all.” 

Maedhros twitched, but refused to rise to the bait. “Why haven’t you and Tyelko been talking lately? Is this anything to do with why dad’s over here fighting with him?” 

“Wasn’t there something about him vanishing the night of mom’s show?” Maglor put in. “I know dad was upset that he left early.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Curufin, raising cool grey eyes to Maedhros’ and smiling with infuriating calm. 

Maedhros took a deep breath, and asked, evenly, “Look, if there’s something we should know – ” 

“I’ve got a guess.” They turned, and Caranthir waved from the doorway. “Hey, Curvo, on a scale from 1 to 10, how likely is it that our brother is fucking his old coach?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2\. I know, Nahar is a horse. But it would be really weird for Oromë to coach college rugby with a huge, fuck-off horse at his side all the time. Besides, I needed a name for his dog, since Celegorm got Huan. And there was a name, ready and waiting!  
> 3\. Oh, so yes, I made Beleg and Celeborn kind of cousins. I mean, it’s an AU, I can do whatever I want, right? It’s not totally outside the realm of possibility that they might be kinda sorta related by marriage.  
> 4\. UPDATE: If you want the background story to Caranthir's rec league past...[here's 400-odd words](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2313083) of that little nugget.


	17. The future's bright and alarming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The seven sons of Fëanor are actually kind of impressive when they work together.

Celegorm clenched his fists and scowled at his father. “Look, I showed up, didn’t I? Why are you obsessing over this?”

“Because you are not telling me the whole truth. What could be so important that it would drag you away from the one night we request your presence?”

“I was _there_ at the beginning, I only left a little before the rest of you. Calm the fuck down.”

Fëanor’s eyes flashed. “Don’t talk to me like that. This goes well beyond your behavior that night. You are demonstrating, once again, that you cannot be trusted to follow through on commitments – ”

“Commitments? Fuck, I’m plenty committed, you don’t know the half of it!”

“So _tell_ me. Why do you insist on evasion?”

“Because it’s none of your goddamn business, that’s why.”

“This sort of response, Turko, tells me all I need to know. You are not growing up, you are not accepting responsibility, you are – ”

“I’m twenty three years old. Aren’t I out of your hands yet? You did your due diligence, I don’t _need_ you anymore. Why do you even _care_?”

“I’m your father,” said Fëanor, exasperated. “I’m going to be in your life, whether you like it or not. I care because you’re my _son_ , and I– ”

“Excuse me?”

They both whirled around. Curufin was standing in the doorway, looking apologetic. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”

“What is it, Curufinwë?” asked Fëanor, tightly. “We’re in the middle of something.”

“I know,” said Curufin, and he twisted his fingers together in an uncharacteristically nervous gesture. Celegorm narrowed his eyes at him, suspicious. “I couldn’t help but overhear what you were…discussing. I know you were upset with Tyelko for leaving that night. But dad, it wasn’t his fault.”

“What?” Fëanor frowned.

“What?” Celegorm mouthed, behind his back.

“It was mine.” Curufin clasped his hands behind him and looked contrite.

“Yours?”

“Curvo,” Celegorm began, but Curufin shot him a brief, threatening look, and Celegorm shut his mouth.

“How was it your fault?” asked Fëanor, quietly.

“I…I asked him to go pick up some liquor for me.”

“What?” Fëanor drew his eyebrows together. “I didn’t even know you drank, Curvo, what were you – ”

“I don’t drink,” said Curufin, quickly. “Not really. But…it’s been a bit tough making friends on campus, especially since I don’t live in the dorms…and there are these kids in one of my classes I want to hang out with. They actually invited me to a party, finally, and I wanted…I wanted to bring something. I don’t know how this kind of thing works, but maybe, if they thought I was…cool enough…” He broke off, blushing.

Fëanor sighed. “Curufinwë…”

“I know it’s silly,” said Curufin, “and I know I shouldn’t care – I didn’t even end up going to that party. I guess, even after all that…I got scared.” He stared at the floor, looking so small and vulnerable that even though he knew it was all an act – it _was_ an act, had to be – Celegorm felt his heart contract painfully.

“I’m sorry,” Curufin whispered. “I’m sorry I asked Tyelko to do it, and I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner. I was embarrassed.”

 

-

 

On the landing, Maedhros turned to Maglor, who had his phone out and was typing busily.

“What’s the word?”

“Pityo answered. He says he can make up some reason that he and Telvo need to be picked up early. He even volunteered to fake a sprained ankle, but I told him that wasn’t necessary.”

“He should mention that he’s in some part of town dad doesn’t trust,” said Caranthir, lounging against the wall. “The old warehouse district, maybe. That'll get him moving fast.”

“Oooh, good call,” said Maglor, bending over his phone.

“Maybe he shouldn’t actually _go_ to the warehouse district,” Maedhros began, but Caranthir interrupted him.

“C’mon, Nelyo, after all that work convincing Curvo to take the heat, you’re going to wimp out now? We’ve got to have a reason for dad to leave, now the focus has been deflected and before he can ask too many questions.”

Maedhros looked like he was struggling with some notion of older brotherly responsibility, but he yielded. “Fine.”

“Pityo’s going to call… _now_ ,” said Maglor, staring intently at his screen.

The three of them held still, listening. Down the hall, a cell phone rang.

 

-

 

Fëanor was about to ask another question when his phone rang. “Hang on – It’s Pityafinwë, I should take this.” He answered the phone, as Celegorm shot a questioning look at Curufin. Curufin nodded almost imperceptibly.

“I’m sorry, the connection’s not good. What did you s – You’re where? _Pityo_. I’ve told you not to – Is your brother with you?” Fëanor let out a breath and grabbed his jacket from the back on the chair. “I’m on my way. Stay away from the railroad tracks.” He hung up, looking distracted. “I’m sorry to leave so abruptly, but your little brother – I don’t know how it’s possible, but those two keep us just as occupied as the five of you ever did. Look, Turko, we’re not done here, but I’m sorry for coming down on you like I did. It speaks to your character that you were unwilling to reveal a secret your brother entrusted to you, even though your attitude – and buying alcohol for your underage – well, topics for another day. Curufinwë, we should talk as well.” He squeezed Celegorm’s shoulder briefly before laying a light hand on the back of Curufin’s neck. “Thank you for speaking up.” He smiled briefly, and as usual, it transformed him.

“Take care of each other,” he said, like he always did, and left.   

“We do,” murmured Curufin, and closed the door behind him.

 

-

 

Celegorm let out a long breath and slumped against his desk. “Well, fuck _me._ That was unexpected.”

Curufin crossed his arms and fixed him with a stern look. “Why are you so bad at lying?”

“It’s not my fault I’m naturally honest.” Celegorm tossed his head and grinned manically.

“Nonsense. You don’t tell the truth, either. You just bluster and get defensive and say nasty things. How does that do you any good?”

“It was none of his business what I was doing.”

“Who cares? You only make him more suspicious when you refuse to answer.”

“I _did_ answer – ”

“Telling him to go fuck himself isn’t an answer.”

“So why are you on my side all of a sudden? Why didn’t you tell him the truth?”

Curufin gritted his teeth. “I’ve told you before, T – Tyelko, that I actually care about your happiness. If he _knew_ about your... _relationship_ , he’d try and end it. For _sure_ he’d try and get Oromë fired, and there’d be an inquiry, and our name in the papers again, and you’d get dragged through all of it. Yes, I know you don’t care about your reputation, but what about his? And father would definitely try to keep you from seeing that – Oromë, ever again. And then I know you’d do something _really_ stupid. So for now, I’m on your side. Actually, I’ve always been on your side, even if you don’t believe it.”

Someone rapped on the door as Celegorm opened his mouth to speak, looking touched despite himself.

“Oh, and by the way,” said Curufin, as their brothers filed into the room, “Moryo’s basically figured it all out.”

“Is it true?” asked Maedhros, without preamble. “Are you having an affair with Oromë?”

“Ah, shit,” said Celegorm.

“Shit, nothing,” said Caranthir. “We just saved your ass.”

“Yes,” said Maglor. “The least you can do is fill us in.”

“You don’t have to worry,” said Maedhros, though he looked concerned. “We won’t tell your secret.”

Curufin rolled his eyes. “You speak for all of us now, Nelyo?”

“He's kept my secrets, I can keep his,” said Maedhros, still looking at Celegorm. “The rest of you can decide for yourselves. But I do have a few questions.”

“Of course you do.” Celegorm sighed and propped his chin on his hand. “If you want to know intimate details – ”

“I don’t. I want to know when it began, how it began, and I want to know who else knows.”

“Uh, the first part of that is kind of a long story. But Irissë knows. ‘course. And…” Celegorm thought. “Well, his wife knows, I guess.”

Maedhros looked horrified, while Caranthir and Maglor leaned forward, agog. “His _wife_?”

“Is this, like, a three-way scenario?”

“Wait, are you the _mistress_ , Tyelko?”

“All right,” said Maedhros. “Perhaps it’s best if you just start at the beginning, hm?”

 

-

 

“Okay,” said Curufin, some time later, sitting cross-legged on the bed. “Let’s establish what we’ve covered so far.”

Celegorm groaned, sprawled in his desk chair. “This isn’t a fucking board meeting, Curvo, _why_ \- ”

“Firstly,” said Curufin, ignoring him, “Nelyo would like it acknowledged that he’s uncomfortable with the fact that Coach Aldaron took advantage of you while you were still in school.”

Maedhros nodded. He was sitting on the floor, long legs drawn up before him as he leaned against the wall.

“Much like ‘a position of authority’,” said Celegorm, loudly. “That is a phrase I am so _fucking_ sick of. I have never been _taken advantage_ of in my life.”

Curufin rolled his eyes but didn’t press the matter. “Next, we acknowledge that Makalaurë is – how did you put it? – ‘ambivalent but intrigued’ by the fact that Oromë is technically married.”

Maglor, who was perched on the windowsill, also nodded.

“You need to get that look off your face,” Celegorm muttered. “It makes me worried.”

“What look?” 

“That look that says: ‘This would make a great topic for an aria’ or some such bullshit. I’m serious, Káno – you immortalize my love life in song and I will – ”

“An aria?” Maglor raised his eyebrows. “Not at _all_ the medium for it. I mean, possibly an extended opera, though that’s hardly my forte. I’d be more comfortable with an epic poem, but what would really be ideal is – well, I know this very talented playwright – ”

“Death,” said Celegorm loudly. “Death is what awaits you if you take that road, Makalaurë. _Off limits_.”

“Understood,” said Maglor hastily.

“And Moryo would like, of course,” Curufin went on, now looking a little bored, “to register both his amusement, his amazement that you kept it secret this long, and also to state that, quote, ‘your boyfriend is frighteningly enormous, how does that even _work_ ’.”

Celegorm kicked at Caranthir, who was yawning, slumped against Maedhros’ legs. “You’re too young to know. But damn, is it worth it.”

“I’d like to register that Tyelko’s being gross again,” said Caranthir, and dropped his head back on Maedhros’ knees.

“It is so noted,” said Curufin, and sighed, running his hand through his hair. “And you already know my feelings on the matter, Tyelko, so I will not belabor those points. What matters now is that we know; you know we know; and we can help keep this from our parents. Because we’re all much smarter than you are.”

Celegorm grinned, and held his arms out. “You guys make me feel so warm and fuzzy.”

“You know my rule about hugs,” said Curufin, dodging him. “Pull it together.”

“Yo, can I lay down one ground rule?” said Celegorm, as he settled for hugging Maglor instead, nearly pulling him off the windowsill. “You have _got_ to stop stalking Oromë and being weird to him. Like, enough already.”

“I wouldn’t have done it if you’d just be honest from the beginning,” said Caranthir, as Maglor extricated himself from Celegorm’s embrace, rather disheveled. “But yeah, sure. The poor guy already has to put up with _you_ , he doesn’t need to suffer the rest of us.”

“Right,” said Celegorm, and stared meaningfully at Curufin. “ _Right_ , Curvo?”

“Fine, I won’t interrupt any more of your little trysts at his house,” said Curufin disinterestedly. “Unless I think it necessary,” he added, almost too quietly to hear, as Celegorm clapped him on the back and Huan let out a joyous bark.

 


	18. It’s so obscure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maedhros ponders the future, with Fingon’s help. And Maglor is a pain in the ass, but not as much of a pain in the ass as his brothers can be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. I settled on these chapter topics thanks to the results of the experiment posted [here](http://imindhowwelayinjune.tumblr.com/post/97992888073/dwmp-verse-snippets).

Fingon woke in the middle of the night to find Maedhros gone. He rolled over, reaching instinctively for Maedhros and finding only a cold spot in the bed. He opened his eyes, confused. Sliding out of bed, and shivering a little as his bare feet hit the floor, he slipped through the doorway and glanced down the hall. A line of closed doors to Maedhros’ brothers’ rooms, and the bathroom, open and empty. Grabbing a pair of sweatpants to pull on, he quietly made his way downstairs.

Maedhros was standing in the dark in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and staring blankly into space, an untouched glass of water next to him.

“You’re up late.”

Maedhros jumped and looked up. “Finno?”

Fingon padded into the kitchen and looked at him quizzically. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” said Maedhros, dropping his eyes. “I was just having trouble sleeping.”

Fingon settled in next to him. “For any particular reason?”

“No.”

“You’ve been…a little off lately. I mean, you’re always pretty quiet, but you seem – ” Fingon hesitated. “Is something going on?”

“No.”

Fingon looked disbelieving. “Babe, it’s me. You can tell me anything.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Maedhros didn’t look at him.

Fingon sighed. “I’m not going to pressure you to talk or anything, but I’m just saying, the last time you acted like this you broke up with me, so you can understand if I’m a little cautious…”

Maedhros forced a smile. “It’s nothing like that, Fin, I promise.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around more,” said Fingon quietly. “I want to see you more frequently than from midnight to 7am, I promise, I just–”

“No, I understand.”

Fingon hummed and leaned his elbows on the counter next to him. They stayed in silence for a while in the dark kitchen, before Fingon spoke again. “But this is something more than generalized insomnia and existential angst, isn’t it?”

Maedhros didn’t answer.

“Maitimo – ”

“I didn’t get in.” Maedhros’ voice was soft.

“What?”

“Law school. I didn’t get in – anywhere.” Maedhros closed his eyes. “Seven rejection letters, Fin, what will I tell my parents?”

Fingon took a deep breath and let it out slowly. His hand instinctively sought Maedhros’ and squeezed it. “Oh, Mae.”

Maedhros flinched. “Please don’t say anything…sympathetic.”

“Okay.” Fingon was quiet, brushing his thumb lightly over Maedhros’ knuckles. “How long have you known?”

“Since early this summer.”

“Seriously?” Fingon’s voice raised, and he quickly lowered it again. “I mean, seriously? You kept it secret for that long – from me?”

Maedhros didn’t respond to this, his jaw tight. “My father has to be suspicious at this point. Even with rolling admission, he’s got to be wondering why I haven’t heard anything…Why I haven’t _started_ anywhere…”

“Has it occurred to you he might have guessed already?” asked Fingon quietly.

Maedhros’ face fell. “You think so?”

“I would imagine it’s struck him as a possibility. Smart guy, your dad.” Fingon wound a tentative arm around his waist. “You applied to all top ten schools, Mae. That’s _insanely_ competitive. Did you have any back-ups? Any safeties?”

“No,” said Maedhros dully. “Why should I accept – ”

“Oh, for – Come _on_ , who the fuck cares if you don’t go to Yale, or Columbia, or wherever? You can get a good education at any number of schools.”

“Big names matter in law schools more than in undergrad,” said Maedhros, not moving under his touch. “My father said – ”

“Who cares?” said Fingon, not bothering to hide his impatience. “Look, do you want to study law, or not? If you _do_ , then you should broaden your range of options when you reapply, and _fuck_ what your dad says.”

“Reapply…” Maedhros twitched out from under Fingon’s arm and turned away. “Damn it, Findekáno, I don’t want to do this all over again just to _settle.”_

Fingon chewed his lip and looked appraisingly at Maedhros’ dark silhouette. “Do you want to reapply at all?”

“I guess I'll have to.” Maedhros clenched his fists. "But the idea of going through all that again..."

“Do you want to _do_ this at all?”

“What?”

Fingon crossed his arms. “Did you apply to all the most competitive schools in the nation – with no fail-safes – because you refuse to settle for second best, or because part of you wanted to fail?”

Maedhros rounded on him. “What are you implying?”

Fingon stared up at him, unfazed. “I’m just wondering if this is actually what you want, or if you’re just doing what you think your father wants. Again.”

 

-

 

It was just before dawn when Fingon tugged Maedhros back up the stairs. “Try and get some sleep, okay?”

“I’ll try,” mumbled Maedhros, letting himself be pulled back to his bedroom. "My brothers are going to give me such hell when they find out..."

"You don't know your brothers very well, then. They're there for you when it matters."

"You've never been one to give my brothers that much credit."

"I know. So I must mean it, huh?"

Maedhros gave a laugh that was more of a sigh, and fell into bed. 

“It’s not going to be as bad as you’re making it out,” whispered Fingon as he pressed himself along Maedhros’ back. “Your father might even prove to be more understanding than you think.” _Unlike in other aspects of your life,_ he added, but only to himself. 

Maedhros made a noncommittal noise, but relaxed back into Fingon’s arms. “I’m sorry I kept you up so late.”

“Don’t worry about me,” said Fingon, yawning and kissing the back of Maedhros’ neck. “I can accept occasional late nights discussing the future as part of the package deal that comes with loving you. And speaking of ‘packages’…”

“No,” said Maedhros, rolling out of reach. “I will not reward you for innuendo.”

“Aww…” Fingon grinned in the lightening darkness. Outside, the sky was grey and the first birds were staring to wake. “Shouldn’t I get some kind of recognition for talking you through a crisis?”

“You made me re-evaluate my entire future,” muttered Maedhros, sliding his arms under the pillow and burying his face in it. “I don’t know if I should be thanking you.”

Fingon ran a finger down Maedhros’ back. “Speaking of ‘re-evaluating your future’, I’ve been meaning to ask… What do you think about moving in with me?”

 

* * *

Sometime well past dawn, Celegorm and Curufin were standing impatiently in the hallway, scowling at the closed bathroom door.

“This is getting absurd.”

“ _I wanna have you, ‘cause you're alllll I've got…Don't wanna lose you 'cause it meeeans a lot… All the joy this world can bring, doesn't give me anything, when yooouuu're not heeeere ...”_

“Sweet creeping Jesus,” hissed Celegorm. “It’s been forty five fucking minutes. Does he not realize this is the only shower?”

“ _But I feeee-eeel…. wonderful… Don’t you know I feee-eeeel... wonderful….”_

“Oh my god,” said Curufin, slumping against his door and burying his face in his towel. “I just want to brush my teeth.”

“What is it today?” asked Caranthir, appearing from downstairs and gesturing at the closed door.

“Annie Lennox,” said Celegorm and Curufin together. “You have to admit he hits the chorus pretty well,” added Celegorm, fairly.

“Be that as it may,” said Curufin, getting up and stomping down the stairs. “I’m not taking this any longer. Brace yourselves; I’m going to turn off the hot water.”

Caranthir and Celegorm arranged themselves in the doorway of Celegorm’s room and waited expectantly. Below, they could hear Curufin slamming into the basement and rummaging around.

Celegorm grinned. Caranthir narrowed his eyes in anticipation.

“ _God, it makes me feel so blue – Every time I think about you – ! All of the heat of my desire, smokin' like some crazy fire…”_

“End it already,” muttered Caranthir, putting his hands over his ears. “ _Finish him._ ”

“Curvo’s on it.”

Curufin reappeared on the stairs, a satisfied look on his face. “Ready? It should kick in any minute now…”

“Hang on.” Celegorm fumbled for his phone and hit record. “This is going to be _good._ ”

“ _Do you want me, do you not? Does it feel cold, baby, does it feel_ – AUGH!” There was a shriek, and a crash.

Curufin winced, even as his eyes glittered triumphantly. “There goes the shower curtain.”

“I hope he hasn’t fractured his coccyx,” said Caranthir, leaning forward. “That sounded like he landed pretty heavily.”

Another yell, and some creative swearing.

“He should really thank you, you know,” said Celegorm ruminatively, still recording. “I’ve never heard him reach a note that high before.”

The door was yanked open, and Maglor stood there, soaking wet and wild-eyed, a towel clutched around his hips. “ _What_ – ” His eyes fell on his three brothers blinking innocently at him in the hallway.

Celegorm bit his lips, trying not to laugh. Caranthir sniggered, and Curufin folded his arms and leaned against the wall, smirking.

“Oh, hey, Makalaurë,” said Celegorm, lowering his cellphone. “Are you done in there? I mean, take your time, by all means, but I think Curvo needs to brush his teeth…”

 

* * *

 

 

“I can’t believe you asked me that when we’d already been up most of the night,” said Maedhros quietly into Fingon’s ear.

“ ‘m sorry,” said Fingon, yawning and turning over to face him.

“Honestly, your timing, Finno…”

“I said I was sorry,” said Fingon, tangling his legs with Maedhros’. “And I did say we could save it for the morning.”

“It’s morning.”

“So it is. Well, what do you think?”

Maedhros sighed. “I don’t know. I’ve lived in this house for almost ten years. It’s how I stay connected with my brothers.”

“You’ll always be connected with your brothers,” said Fingon. “You could live on the _moon_ and you’d still be connected with your brothers. Tyelko could probably yell loud enough that you wouldn’t even have to use a radio to stay in touch… Seriously, Mae, did you think you’re going to live in this house forever? You’ll be _thirty_ before too long.”

“Don’t remind me.” Maedhros groaned. “But someone needs to keep an eye on them.”

Fingon smiled fondly. “Darlin’, even Curvo is technically of age now. They’re actually, like, grown, basically competent human adults. And they’re going to have to learn to make do without you at some point.”

“But I just feel…I don't know. Maybe I _want_ to live with my brothers.”

“That’s…fine,” said Fingon, carefully. “But what about me?” He took Maedhros’ hand and twined their fingers together. “We’ve been together seven years. I don’t know about you, but I’m more or less assuming I’m in it for the long haul.” He leaned forward and kissed Maedhros lightly. “I want a life with you.”

Maedhros wrapped his arms around Fingon’s waist and pulled him close. “Are you sure?”

Fingon rolled his eyes. “ _Yes_.”

Maedhros tucked his face against Fingon’s shoulder. “I want that, too.”

Fingon smiled and stroked his fingers through Maedhros’ hair. “Look, I’ve _got_ an apartment, no roommates, and a queen-sized bed. And I almost never use it. I’m here practically every night, and as much as I love staying here – ” he broke off meaningfully as a muffled cacophony echoed down the hall. “ – I’ve kind of outgrown the dorm life feeling, you know? Not to mention I think your dad would shit a brick if I moved in here.”

“And you think he wouldn’t if I moved in with you?”

“He’s going to have to get over it eventually,” said Fingon imperturbably. “And at least it wouldn’t be in a house he owns. I’m not going to lie, Maitimo, if we live together? I want it to be our own place. Not his.”

“And if you do decide to reapply to schools,” he went on, when Maedhros didn’t answer, “you’d be leaving here anyway for wherever you end up going. And if you want to do something else, well – it might be nice to have your own space to do it in, mightn’t it?”

Maedhros was quiet, his face still pressed to Fingon’s neck. Fingon played with his hair and waited.

“Supposing I said yes,” said Maedhros at last, “Would it…” He was interrupted by a crash from the bathroom and a delighted whoop from Celegorm.

“Run, Curvo!”

“$5 on Makalaurë,” came Caranthir’s voice.

“Not with that bum leg, damn…”

“Oh, Káno, you dropped your towel – ”

Maedhros and Fingon froze, listening to what sounded like someone half running, half falling down the stairs, while Caranthir and Celegorm cheered.

Maedhros raised his head and looked at Fingon. “How soon can I move in?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The song Maglor’s warbling can be enjoyed [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UAJiqajkac8).


	19. Shun the sunlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The things left untold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. **Warnings for this chapter** : Mentions of past trauma, physical and emotional abuse, and one reference to abortion. If you think any of this will be triggering to you, _please_ feel free to skip this chapter; you should still be able to follow the plot of the story no problem. There is also a brief (consensual) f/m sex scene.  
>  1\. Chapter title taken directly from Tolkien.

It was amazing, Aredhel thought, how things could go this bad, this fast. One minute they had been laughing and joking, baking cookies (because baking was Elenwë’s go-to when she knew she had a heavy night of homework ahead), and playing music loud enough that the neighbors had pounded on the ceiling with a broom handle. And then – in the span of one casual remark by Elenwë – it had all gone downhill.

It didn’t help knowing that it was entirely Aredhel’s own fault.

“Why do you keep yelling?” Elenwë crossed her arms over her chest and glared, angry and hurt. “What’s your fucking problem, Irissë?”

“I – I – ” Aredhel dug her fingers into her hair. “I don’t know.”

“Seriously, what’s the big deal?” Elenwë asked, in a voice of forced calm. “I’m going to New York for the weekend for a class project. I’ll be back Sunday night. I didn’t tell you until now because I forgot, and because _it’s not a big deal._ What are you so freaked out about?”

“I don’t like New York,” whispered Aredhel, and sank her face into her hands.

“Really? That’s your reason? Irissë, I thought you _lived_ there for a semester, why would you, of all people– ”

“I just don’t.”

“But you lived there, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” said Aredhel, and didn’t look up. Her shoulder gave an angry ghost throb of pain, and she shuddered. “Yes, I did.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Irissë!” Celegorm engulfed her in a hug, nearly pulling her off her barstool. “Shit, it’s been ages. I heard some crazy story you were in New York all semester or something – That’s not true, is it?”

“Yeah,” said Aredhel, trying not to wince as her shoulder was jostled.

“Do they do exchange programs in Manhattan or something now? I thought you wanted to take a year abroad, not a year in – ”

“I wasn’t in school,” said Aredhel flatly, her tone brooking no further comment.

Celegorm ignored it. “So what were you doing while you were in the city?”

“Look, I’m here to drink. Aren’t you?

“Sure,” he said, shooting her a sidelong glance before gesturing to the bartender. “Two shots, please.”

“Make ‘em doubles,” said Aredhel, and Celegorm shook his head and laughed.

-

Several hours, and several shots later, they made their way, a little unsteadily, into the street.

"Whew," said Celegorm. "I forgot how hard you can go. We should make you have a drinking contest with Makalaurë some day, you'd  _destroy_ him."

"Yeah, whatever," said Aredhel, disinterested. Their shoulders brushed as they walked along, leaning lightly into each other, and at some point their fingers twined together. For a moment Aredhel let their hands join, but then the tenderness of it infuriated her and she shook away impatiently.

"Hey, is everything okay?"

 _Too gentle_ , thought Aredhel, and shoved Celegorm back against a lamppost. She kissed him ferociously, knotting her fingers into his hair.

“Mph!” Celegorm let out a grunt as all the air was pushed from his lungs. “Damn, girl,” he gasped, when he could speak again. "You don't mess around, do you?"

“Your place is close, isn’t it?” breathed Aredhel. “Take me there.”

“Whatever you want,” said Celegorm, running his tongue over his lips. “ _Jesus._ ” 

-

They slipped into the house, managing to avoid catching the notice of Maglor and Maedhros, who were downstairs watching a movie, and, from the sound of it, arguing about the score.

Once the door to Celegorm's room was locked behind them, Aredhel dropped her bag to the floor and immediately began to wriggle her jeans down over her hips. She stripped to her underwear but left her shirt on while Celegorm fumbled to get his clothes off as quickly as possible.

“Hurry up,” she ordered, pushing him back to the bed. “I need you _now._ ”

“Easy,” he said, but his eyes were bright and eager. “I can take all the time in the world, you know me – ”

“I don’t want you to take your time.” She straddled his hips and tugged his boxers down.

“Oh,  _fuck.”_

“Yeah,” murmured Aredhel, and leaned forward to kiss him hard as she pulled her underwear to the side.

"I guess that's a no to foreplay, then?"

"What part of ' _now'_ don't you understand?"

“Got it. Hey, I'm not complaining. Hang on, hang on - Condom.” Celegorm reached for the bedside table while Aredhel forced herself not to snarl at him impatiently. She snatched the condom from his hands and busied herself with it while he watched her appreciatively. Celegorm wrapped his hands around her waist, sliding up under her shirt. “God, you feel good. You _look_ good. C’mon, you could be a whole lot more naked…” But she resisted as he made to tug her shirt up over her head, tightening her thighs around his waist.

“Leave it.”

“I – ”

“ _Leave it_.” She leaned down and bit his lip, rocking back on him as she did so, and whatever he was going to say was lost in a groan.

“Irissë,” he whispered, “goddamn, you’re so hot, you feel so good, I want…”

“You talk too much.”

“Yeah, I’ve been told.” Celegorm grinned, irrepressible as ever, as he let his fingers dip beneath the waistband of her underwear. She closed her eyes and braced her hands on either side of his head, letting herself slide down on him. She caught her breath and he groaned, his hands settling on her hips. They moved together easily, but all too soon she was grinding her teeth in frustration. _Too slow, not enough, too damned gentle.._. She straightened up, leaning back for a more intense angle, and Celegorm  ran his hands over her hips, sliding her shirt up around her waist. She flinched as the material was dragged up, and saw his eyes widen.

“Jesus.”

She grabbed his hands and tugged them away. “I told you to leave it – ”

But Celegorm was pushing himself upright now, frowning as he gently lifted the hem of her shirt.

“ _Stop_ , Tyelko.”

Celegorm froze, but too late. He had seen the massive, spreading bruise on her ribcage. He swore. “Fuck, Irissë, what happened?”

“Nothing,” she spat, pushing his hands roughly away, pinning them to the mattress while her shoulder protested at the movement. Celegorm held still, but he was staring up at her, horrified.

“That was handprint, Irissë.”

“Fuck this. I’m out.” She slid off him and tried to stand next to the bed, but her legs were shaking so badly she had to drop back down again. “ _Shit_.”

Celegorm sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting quietly next to her.

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” she said, and coughed to cover the sensation of bile rising in her throat.

He didn’t touch her, but looked at her, distressed. “Irissë…who were you staying with in New York?”

“A boyfriend,” she said, and closed her eyes as a wave of dizziness hit her.

 

* * *

 

 Elenwë was looking more baffled than angry now, and Aredhel realized she hadn’t spoken in several minutes.

 _Tell her_.

“Don’t…don’t mind me,” she mumbled. “I was over-reacting.”

_Tell her the truth. It’s what normal people do._

“Irissë – ”

“I was being an asshole, sorry. Forget it, okay?”

_It’s what people who love each other do._

_It’s what…_

_…people who love each other do._

_It’s normal._

 

* * *

 

 

“Why do you do this to me?” he would ask. “Why do you drive me so crazy? Why do you make me love you so much?”

 

“Love is supposed to hurt,” he would whisper, as she tried to turn away from him in bed. “If it doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t count.”

 

“This is what loving someone means,” he would tell her, and pull the shades. “Just the two of us. Just you and me, against the world.”

 

She forgot what natural light looked like; the curtains were always closed.

 

It was when he found out about the abortion that he dislocated her shoulder.

 

It was after that that she ran.

 

* * *

_Telling the truth to someone you love is what normal people do…_

_But you are not normal._

“Just call me when you get back,” she said, and left Elenwë looking confused and anxious on the couch.

She let her feet lead her along the sidewalk, effectively blind to everything around her. She counted her steps, because it kept her from bursting into tears. She counted her breaths, so that she wouldn’t lash out and hit one of the people who came too close and brushed against her. She looked at the busy street, crowded with rush hour traffic, and considered darting into it. If she made it to the other side unscathed, it would mean…something. And if she didn’t…

Her phone rang.

_Elenwë, Elenwë, please let it be Elenwë…_

Wiping the back of her hand impatiently across her eyes, Aredhel pulled out her phone. It wasn’t Elenwë, but she answered it anyway, her voice as casual as she could make it, forcing back her disappointment.

“Hey, Findekáno. What’s up?” She sat down on a bench, suddenly exhausted. “Uh huh. Oh yeah? Oh, shit, you finally asked him?” She pulled her hand through her hair, feeling a lump rise in her throat. “…That’s great. Do you think he’ll actually follow through? No, I’m really happy for you.” Tears were dripping from the end of her nose now, and she scrubbed at it, still trying to keep her voice even. “What? No, it’s probably just a bad connection. I – ” Her voice cracked, and she bent forward over her knees, phone still pressed to her ear. “Are you at your place, Finno? Can I – can I come over?”

-

When she stepped into Fingon’s small, brightly lit apartment, there was a hot cup of Tension Tamer tea waiting on the counter, and Fingon was sitting next to it.

“I could hear it in your voice,” he said, as she came in and looked at him in wordless gratitude. “Just tell me what you need. Comfort, tea, talk?”

“A hug would be nice,” she said in a small voice. She felt for a moment like a tiny child again, when Fingon would soothe her after a fall, even if he’d been teasing her the second before. She could always count on him when she was hurt.

And so when he folded her into his arms, she finally let herself cry.

 

* * *

It had been the three of them that had dragged her back from the brink that year.

Celegorm was something solid to hurl herself against; he gave her an outlet for her rage to burn out in pure physicality. They would go on twelve-mile runs in the rain, returning soaked to the skin and covered in mud. He’d show her the drills he did with his rugby team, and she’d do them until she was heaving from exhaustion. Other times, he would take her to the boxing gym and show her how to throw a punch. She got so good a crowd would sometimes gather to watch her practice.

And when she needed it, Celegorm was easy, familiar pleasure, and he never asked too many questions.

Fingon was her rock, her comfort, her safe place. He was home, and family, and reassurance that no matter what happened, someone would love her. On bad days, he would come by her place with take-out and movies from their childhood and make her laugh with wild stories and terrible jokes and make sure she was drinking something other than the bottles she kept under bed. On bad nights, he'd sleep on her couch, the steady familiarity of his breaths an unspeakable comfort whenever she'd slip into the living room to make sure he was still there. Fingon was her big brother; always there when she needed him. 

And Galadriel had kept her alive.

Galadriel had listened to all of it, all the mess and horror and humiliation, and never once flinched or looked appalled. Galadriel, seemingly older and wiser at 18 than Aredhel thought she would ever be, had taken her fear in stride, and asked the questions no one else would ask. Galadriel, who worked in the Women’s Center on campus and volunteered on a domestic abuse hotline, had helped her to change her phone number and later, to file the restraining order. Galadriel had taken her calls in the middle of the night, and Aredhel would forever associate the moment of returned reality following a panic attack with Galadriel’s low, calming voice.

With the three of them at her side, she had survived. But Galadriel had been her lifeline.

 

* * *

“Can you just talk about other things?” Aredhel asked, when she was wrapped in an afghan on Fingon’s couch, the mug of tea in her hands. “Stupid things. Funny things. Happy things. Anything. Oh – tell me about you and Maitimo. Did he really say yes?”

“Sure did,” said Fingon, settling in next to her. He went on lightly about the conversation, and how they thought Fëanor might react, and how soon it might happen – “Provided Maitimo doesn’t freak out, which, let’s face it, is almost certain to happen” – and whether they’d need a bigger place, and what Maedhros’ brothers would say…but all the while, she could tell that he was watching her out of the corner of his eye, only half paying attention to his carefully mundane conversation.

“Oh, and Makalaurë had to go to the urgent care center for a sprained ankle, did I tell you? There was video footage, but then Makalaurë destroyed Tyelko’s phone…” He broke off as his phone buzzed. “Hang on.” He glanced down at the text. “It’s from Turno. He wants to know if I’ve seen you, and if you’re okay.”

“Why?”

“Elenwë called him.”

Aredhel felt a blank rush of panic. “She called him? Why did she call him? Are they still in touch? What does that mean– ”

“Slow down,” said Fingon gently. “She called him because she was worried about you, Ireth. Something must have happened that made her want to know you were okay. Look, this is your history, and your relationship, and that means whatever you do is totally your call. But I think she’d want to know – ”

“No, she wouldn’t,” said Aredhel flatly. “Who would want to know something like that? No, _don’t_ , Finno. I’m not ready, okay? But can – can you give me a ride?”

“Yes,” said Fingon, getting up at once and not pressing her further. “Back to Elenwë?”

“No,” said Aredhel. “To Artanis.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2\. I realize I wrote this whole thing without actually naming Eöl. And that seems fitting, somehow.


	20. Septembering arms of year extend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fëanor and Maedhros have a long overdue talk.

Cuiviénen was always busy on Sunday afternoons; crowded with college students bent over their homework, their third or fourth refills of coffee sitting on top of a pile of textbooks. Behind the register, Maglor, his hair tucked back under a bandana, was studiously not watching his father and brother out of the corner of his eye. Maedhros blessed the noise of the customers and the hiss of the espresso machine – at least Maglor couldn’t actively eavesdrop. Still, he had to admit it felt a little comforting to have his brother there as a silent ally.

He tucked his legs uncomfortably under the too-small coffee shop table and fiddled with the stir stick in his cup of coffee, fighting the ridiculous sensation that he was on some sort of impossibly awkward first date.

“Nelyo,” said Fëanor quietly. “Look at me, please.”

Maedhros forced himself to look up, but couldn’t quite meet his father’s eyes.

Fëanor sighed, tapping his long fingers against his own mug. “You need a haircut. I can barely see your face with your hair in your eyes like that.”

Maedhros gritted his teeth. It was _amazing_ how his father could reduce him to a squirming teenager in just two sentences. He straightened up and met Fëanor’s gaze squarely. Sitting upright, he was nearly half a head taller than his father – _and besides_ , he told himself fiercely, _you are a grown man, and you have outgrown being afraid of him. What can he do to you?_

“It seems there are some things we should be talking about,” said Fëanor, as the stir stick snapped in Maedhros’ hands. “Nelyafinwë, what happened with your application?”

Maedhros opened his mouth, ready to go on the defensive, but he swallowed his words as he saw the genuine concern in Fëanor’s eyes. “…I didn’t get in,” he said, so baldly it surprised him, completely bypassing the preface he’d been planning. “I didn’t get in anywhere.”

He did drop his eyes again then, ashamed despite himself. _I don’t want to disappoint you – not again._

“Nelyo.” Fëanor reached across the table and touched his hand gently. “I guessed as much.”

“You did?”

Fëanor smiled ruefully. “The number of months that had gone by without a word from you – I figured something like that had happened.” At Maedhros’ expression, he even laughed a little. “Don’t look so alarmed. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Look, son, the battle’s not over unless we decide it is. I have some contacts I can call, and I think perhaps if we lower our sights a little – There are other good schools out there with higher acceptance rates, and your LSATs are more than respectable – ”

“Dad – ”

“ – and now that you’ve done it once, you have a better sense of what to expect. I think some interviews would – ”

“ _Dad_.”

Fëanor frowned. “What?”

“I don’t want to reapply.”

“Nelyo, I can help you with this – ”

“I know, and I appreciate that,” said Maedhros softly. “But…I’m not going to law school. I never really wanted to in the first place. I just felt like I needed to be doing _something_ , and you seemed so pleased that I just…pretended it was what I wanted, too.”

“What are you saying?”

“I just said it. I didn’t make it into law school, and I’m glad. It’s not what I want to do.”

Fëanor drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “So you’re just giving up? Strange, but I thought I taught you better than that. How much longer do you think you can postpone adulthood? For heaven’s sake, Nelyafinwë, your eighteen year old brother has his life more figured out than you do.”

Maedhros focused on not letting his hands curl into fists. “Well, Curvo’s very lucky then,” he said evenly. “But I agree with you. I do need to stop postponing my own life. I’ve already started, in fact.”

“And how is that?” asked Fëanor, looking dubious.

Maedhros took a deep breath. “By deciding I’m moving out of the house.” As Fëanor’s eyes flashed, Maedhros went on stolidly. “It’s time for me to have my own place where I can focus on the things that are important to me. I’ve been so caught up in – ” he gestured helplessly, “ – in trying to be there for my brothers, and to do what I think you would want, and with everything that happened after the fire – ”

“Nelyo,” said Fëanor warningly, but Maedhros ignored him.

“ – that I’ve forgotten about what matters to _me._ ”

“And your family isn’t one of those things?” Fëanor’s voice was dangerous now, and Maedhros flinched.

“Of course it is, it always will be, I just,” Maedhros broke off painfully. “I just need other things, too.”

“Such as your own place, apparently. Found one already, have you?”

“Yes.” Maedhros swallowed. “I’m moving in with Findekáno.”

There was a long silence. Desperate to look anywhere but at his father, Maedhros glanced up at the counter. Maglor was watching him, face drawn and anxious, but he turned away quickly when he caught Maedhros’ eyes.

“So,” said Fëanor quietly. “When you say you want to forge your own path in life, what you really mean is that you’re choosing to follow someone else’s path. This is hardly _independence_ , Nelyafinwë. Tying yourself down to that – ”

“He has a name,” snapped Maedhros, suddenly angry. “I’ve been with him seven years, _father_ , and the least you can do is pretend to treat him like a person. Findekáno. He’s the man I’m in love with.”

“We’ve spoken of this before,” said Fëanor, jaw tight. “He is your _cousin_.”

“Only when it’s convenient, it seems,” Maedhros shot back. “Only when you’re looking for excuses for us not to be together. Otherwise, he’s ‘that son of Nolofinwë’ – Nolofinwë, who is _not_ your brother, as you’ve made _perfectly_ clear to everyone in this family.”

“Watch your tone,” said Fëanor shortly. “My… _step_ brother’s son is still your cousin, and your little affair will hardly read well to the general public.”

“How is this a matter for the general public?” demanded Maedhros furiously. “I’m not putting out a press release, I’m moving in with my boyfriend of seven years. If anything, people will just be surprised it hasn’t happened earlier. And as for public opinion – Christ, since when has that bothered you? A dozen workers dead, and you hardly blink, but, no, whispers of impropriety between cousins by marriage, _that’s_ where you draw the line!”

“That’s _enough_ ,” hissed Fëanor, and stood. “How dare you bring up – ”

“Your history? _Our_ history?” Maedhros stood too, towering over his father. “What happened at Alqualondë has shaped my life as much as yours, and if you’re looking for reasons why it’s taken me this long to find my path, look no further than your _warehouse_.”

 

-

 

Fingon had just dropped off Aredhel when his phone rang. He answered it, holding it between shoulder and ear as he pulled out of the parking garage.

“H’lo?”

“It’s me.”

“Maitimo.” Fingon’s fingers tightened involuntarily on the steering wheel. “How did it go?”

“Well,” Maedhros’ voice came flatly down the line, “Let’s just say that it’s a good thing my father wasn’t supporting me financially, because I think I would have just been cut off.”

“Oh, _fuck_.”

“Yes. Can I meet you at your place?”

“Our place,” Fingon corrected instantly. “And yes. I’ll see you there.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Quiet weekend breakfasts were something of a novelty, Maedhros reflected, as he poured himself a cup of coffee, but something he could definitely get used to. Especially the part where Fingon wandered into the kitchen half-naked, kissed his cheek, stole his coffee, and wandered back out.

Maedhros smiled as he fetched another mug and poured a second cup of coffee. Yes, he could definitely get used to this.

“Toss me a bagel, would you?” Fingon called, from the living room.

“Toasted?”

“Nah. One of the cinnamon raisin ones, though.”

Maedhros leaned over the counter separating the tiny kitchen from the living room and lightly threw a bagel to Fingon. “Untoasted bagel? Barbarian.”

“I like ‘em raw,” said Fingon, and tore into it. “Also, I’m impatient.”

“You don’t have to tell me.” Maedhros turned as the toaster dinged, and pulled his toast onto a plate. “You want butter, or cream cheese, or anything?”

“Meh.”

“Sophisticated,” murmured Maedhros, and Fingon made a face at him.

“Just hurry up and come in here, I’ve got plans for you.”

“I hope these ‘plans’ don’t involve bagels,” Maedhros said. “Assuming that was innuendo – ”

“Bagel innuendo? I hadn’t thought of that. What would you even do with – I mean would you put it on – No, I won’t speculate. But I want to enjoy you before we have to do all the tedious stuff."

"You mean actually moving me in?"

"Yes." Fingon groaned. "Are you sure you can't just use my things?"

"Your clothes wouldn't fit me."

"I think the crop-top look would be pretty hot on you, actually... But you're right, the pants situation would be comical. You can't pull off culottes. And now I think of it, there are definitely some things we need from your old place. Most of our lube and condoms, for one."

"I'm glad you have your priorities in order," said Maedhros, finishing buttering his toast and laying the knife on the plate. "Worrying about the  _truly_  irreplaceable stuff."

"Someone needs to think of these things. Hey, is that your phone?”

Maedhros swore under his breath as he struggled to pull his phone from his pocket while juggling his plate to another hand. “It’s – oh. It’s my parents’ home number…”

With a certain amount of trepidation, he answered it. “Hello?”

It was Amrod. “Nelyo. Hey, Nelyo. Nelyo. Listen.”

“What’s going on?” Maedhros frowned as he tried to balance his phone, coffee, and plate of toast. “Are you okay? Why are you calling?”

“ ‘Cuz. Listen to this. Mom’s going _ripshit_.”

Giving up, Maedhros set down his cup and plate and leaned on the counter, phone pressed to his ear, still confused.

“What’s up?” Fingon mouthed at him.

Maedhros shook his head, and listened. It sounded like Amrod was holding up the phone to a conversation taking place on his end. Most of the noise coming through was muffled, but one voice cut through with perfect clarity.

“…and another thing, Fëanaro, if you have your head so far up your ass that you can’t see – ”

Another voice, lower, cut in, but Maedhros couldn’t make out the words.

“Don’t interrupt me! If you can’t see that you should be happy – no, _delighted_ – that our son has found someone who makes him happy – and is making decisions based on his own desires rather than some sense of duty – then you are far more stupid than I ever suspected!”

“Nerdanel, it is not a question of happiness...”

“Of course it is, you oaf! That’s all that matters! And you – _you_ , you short-sighted fool, are going to let your ridiculous pettiness and your sense of entitlement get in the way! How dare you?”

“Nerdanel, please lower your voice…”

“WELL, YOU DON’T SEEM TO BE GETTING IT THROUGH YOUR THICK HEAD ANY OTHER WAY!”

Amrod came back on the line, laughing. “Did you hear that? I’ve never seen Mom so mad…”

“Listen, what exactly – ”

“I dunno what happened, but I think Dad finally told Mom about some conversation you and he had? And she fuckin’ blew _up_ , told him he was even worse at parenting than _his_ father…”

“Oh, god.” Maedhros groaned and leaned his head against his arm.

“And – Oh, wait, it’s getting good again – ” Amrod had apparently held out the phone again, because Nerdanel’s voice came through clearly.

“Once you get over your sulking, you will go to him and tell him that you have nothing but pride and support for him, and while you’re at it, Fëanaro, you are going to _apologize_ to that sweet boy for being such an _ass_ to him all these years. No, not Maitimo, I’m talking about Findekáno. The one your son has loved for more than half a decade and whose name you refuse to even speak, you childish, self-righteous–”

“ _Nerdanel_.”

“I gotta go, Nelyo,” said Amrod, chortling. “I think I’ve been spotted. But this should be interesting, yeah?” He hung up, and Maedhros stayed still, staring at the phone is his hand.

“You look like you’ve just been dropped on your head,” observed Fingon, who’d been watching with interest from the couch, where he was sprawled, finishing his bagel. “What was that about?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand Ambarussa,” said Maedhros quietly, dropping the phone to the counter. “When I was growing up, a fight like that between my parents would have me terrified.”

“Your parents are fighting?” Fingon pushed himself up, suddenly serious. “Is everything okay?”

“I don’t know. My mother was tearing into my father for how he was treating me…and you, at that.”

Fingon whistled. “No shit. What do you think – ”

Maedhros phone buzzed and he picked it up quickly. It was a text from Amrod.

_whats ur new address? mom wants it_

Maedhros read the text out loud, and Fingon looked speculative. “I dunno, man, I’ve lived here very happily knowing your parents didn’t have the address…”

Maedhros’ phone buzzed again.

_she says she wont abuse it. she also wants to know what kind of muffins finno likes_

“Boy, does she know how to win a guy over.” Fingon grinned. “455 Hithlum Ave NW. And tell her, blueberry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Is it not the most dad thing ever to tell you to get your hair out of your eyes? It's probably the one thing my father and Fëanor have in common.  
> 1\. Thanks to Ilye for more or less giving me the prompt that launched this chapter, and thanks to Elleth and Silje for their CRITICAL input on the Very Important Question of Fingon’s street address. Screw cohesive, fluent writing and plotting; I know where my priorities lie.  
> 2\. Chapter title taken from ee cummings' on-point poem ~~about Fëanor~~ ['my father moved through dooms of love'](http://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/my-father-moved-through-dooms-love). Bonus points since this chapter takes place in September (ish. Don't pay too much attention to the timeline. God knows I don't.)


	21. My dream is to move ya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maedhros moves; an old friend helps out. Caranthir has questions; finds answers he wasn’t necessarily looking for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. I probably should have broken this chapter in two, but I was too eager. EVENTS TRANSPIRE.

“You really should put on some clothes.”

“ ’zat so?” Fingon hummed and bit ruminatively into a muffin as he perched on a stool at the counter top, clad in nothing but boxers.

“Yes.” Maedhros folded his arms. “He’s going to be here any minute. You should try and look remotely presentable…”

“Mae. Azaghâl knew me when we were first dating. He has _seen_ me naked, like, a dozen times.”

Maedhros winced. “Yes, but I’m not an oblivious twenty two year old anymore. I have no excuse for making my long-suffering former roommate uncomfortable by parading my naked boyfriend around.”

“The only one uncomfortable was _you_. Az has always been pretty chill.”

“Will you just – ”

The doorbell rang and Maedhros sighed so deeply and heartrendingly that Fingon hopped off the stool, laughing, and whisked into the bedroom to grab a shirt. Maedhros answered the door as Fingon reappeared, now wearing one of Maedhros’ tee shirts.

“Azaghâl! Thanks so much for coming to help.”

“No problem, Red. You know I’m always happy to help your skinny ass with the heavy lifting.”

Maedhros stepped aside, and Azaghâl came in, clapping him on the arm in passing. Short and stocky, with broad shoulders, a prodigious auburn beard, and muscular forearms completely covered in tattoos, Azaghâl surveyed the apartment with a critical eye.

“Not bad. A little small, but it’s got good light. How much you paying for it?”

“Let’s just say it’s a lot more manageable now that this sponge is paying half,” said Fingon, digging an elbow into Maedhros’ ribs as he joined them. “How’s it going?”

“Not bad.” Azaghâl and Fingon clasped hands in greeting, and Azaghâl eyed him. “Nice outfit. You’re still significantly more clothed than you ever were in college.”

“Told you,” muttered Maedhros.

Fingon shrugged. “I’ll locate pants in a minute. Want a blueberry muffin?”

 

-

 

Maedhros pulled open the door of the moving van and the three of them regarded the contents.

Azaghâl cracked his knuckles. “What’s the approach? Heaviest first?”

“The bureau will be the most work,” said Maedhros, considering. “It weighs about a ton and we should go carefully with it; it was my grandmother’s.”

“Cute,” said Azaghâl. “Fingon and I can take it, yeah?”

“Yep,” said Fingon, rolling out his shoulders before stepping up beside Azaghâl. “You grab that shelf, Mae.”

“I can’t believe I’m finally seeing you move for the first time since we were sophomores,” Azaghâl grunted some time later, heaving a box half the size of himself up the stairs. “Remember moving into the dorms the first day of freshmen year?”

“Yes,” said Maedhros, smiling. “You didn’t like me at first.”

“Eighteen year old me wasn’t quite as secure,” said Azaghâl, and dropped the box to the floor with a thud. “And a six and a half foot tall dude who was prettier than half the girls I’d dated did _nothing_ for my ego.”

“What changed?” asked Fingon, pushing back the bandana he'd tied around his forehead to keep the sweat from his eyes.

“Well,” said Azaghâl, grinning. “The fact that he didn’t bring home a single conquest for three years really endeared him to me. Not getting sexiled for the first three quarters of college? What else could I ask for in a roommate?”

Maedhros pursed his lips. “I also got you a cheap room in an off-campus house.”

“Yeah, but it was a house that slowly filled with your brothers, and then you met this one, and all of a sudden there was this punk-ass freshman always hanging around.”

“You loved me,” said Fingon, ripping open a box and rummaging in it.

“You were the worst,” said Azaghâl, collapsing onto the couch and putting his feet up on the table. “I went from having a lovely, quiet housemate who never brought anyone home, to having to sleep with earplugs every night because of all the loud sex.” He looked up and laughed at the sight of Maedhros’ face. “You blushing, Red?”

“It’s only been seven years,” said Fingon, and smiled triumphantly as he found what he was looking for in the box. “By Maitimo reckoning, he still has three more years to be embarrassed before the memory fades adequately. Want a beer?”

“Absolutely,” said Azaghâl, and Fingon twirled the bottle opener around one finger as he made his way to the refrigerator.

“What are you up to, these days?” asked Maedhros, as he pulled books from a box and arranged them on the empty shelves. “Still working at the bike shop?”

“Only part time,” said Azaghâl, as Fingon tossed him a beer. “The home brewing’s actually taking off – I’ve been bottling a fair amount and there are some bars that are interested in stocking a limited run.”

“That’s great,” said Maedhros. “I hope it’s better than what you experimented with as an undergrad, though…”

Azaghâl winced. “Don’t bring it up,” he said, looking pained. “I’ve improved since then, I promise. I’m also taking a course in forging cast-iron. Figure if I combine the cast-iron and beer business I can come up with some clever name – Ironic Lager. Forge IPA. That sorta thing.”

“Excellent,” said Fingon, leaning back against the pile of boxes. “You should bring some when we throw our house-warming party. Whenever that happens.” Somewhere, a phone buzzed, and he started up again, throwing various piles of detritus to the side as he searched for it. “Balls. Where is it? Coming, coming – Hello? Hey, Turno. What’s up? Um. No. Should I have?”

He looked briefly confused, and then groaned, smacking himself in the forehead. “Ah, _shit_. Okay, thanks for reminding me. You better call Irissë too, there’s no way she’ll remember otherwise.  …Really? That means I’m the only asshole who forgot? Yeah, yeah. Okay. Bye.”

He hung up, looking peeved.

“What did you do?” asked Maedhros. “Or not do?”

“Call my parents,” said Fingon. “Why didn’t you remind me it was Rosh Hashanah?”

“Um,” said Maedhros. “Is that my job now?”

“Should be,” said Fingon. “Man, that’s one of my parents’ only real requirements: Phone calls on birthdays, the High Holidays, and for significant life events – Oops, blew that one too.” He grinned sheepishly. “They don’t know you’re moving in with me.”

“Well, L’Shanah Tovah, brother,” said Azaghâl. “If you feel like doing some repentance, you can come to services with me.”

“I might take you up on that,” said Fingon. “Then at least I can tell my parents and they’ll be so shocked and impressed that – Was that the door?” He looked up, frowning as the doorbell rang. “You expecting someone, Nelyo?”

“No,” said Maedhros, getting to his feet.

Fingon looked suddenly apprehensive. “You…you don’t think it’s your dad, do you?”

Azaghâl belched. “Wouldn’t that be fun. Fëanor never liked me much.”

“Never liked _you_ much?” Fingon rolled his eyes. “At least you weren’t sleeping with his son. I mean, as far as I know.”

Azaghâl inclined his head, pensive. “Well, there was that one night…”

“Are you joking?”

“We were really drunk,” said Maedhros, going to the door.

“WHAT?”

“Just a harmless bit of groping,” said Azaghâl, soothingly, and Fingon dropped back, looking stunned.

“I have so many questions.”

“Save them,” said Maedhros, and opened the door. “Moryo, what are you doing here?”

 

-

 

“Slow down,” said Maedhros, as Caranthir paced the kitchen. “Why are you in such a rush?”

“I need to talk to Lalwen,” snapped Caranthir. “She’s not answering her phone, she’s not at the gym…Just tell me her address, Nelyo. I haven’t been to her new place since she moved.”

“Why do you need her?” asked Maedhros, a touch of concern in his voice.

“I have some questions,” said Caranthir darkly.

“Not that it matters,” said Fingon, from the couch where he was sitting next to Azaghâl, “but how did you get _this_ address?”

“Mom,” said Caranthir. “She says she’ll send you the muffin recipe, by the way.”

“Tell her she is a goddess and a saint,” said Fingon. “But seriously, Moryo, what’s up?”

“Nothing,” said Caranthir, looking so foreboding that none of them pressed him further. “Nelyo, just _give_ me it already.”

“Fine,” said Maedhros at last, but he looked like he was having second thoughts as he scribbled an address on a scrap of paper. “Listen, when you – ”

“Thanks,” said Caranthir, grabbing the paper, and took off without a backwards glance.

“What was that about?” asked Fingon, as the door slammed.

“I don’t know,” said Maedhros quietly. “But you can bet I’ll be calling Makalaurë tomorrow to check in.”

 

\----

 

“Haleth?”

“Mmm?”

“Sorry to wake you…”

Haleth raised her head and looked around blearily, confused for a minute as to where she was. This was certainly not her dorm, not even the common room. And this wasn’t her bed, either. She raised herself up on one arm and looked down in surprise to see her other hand resting on someone’s thigh.

She sat up then, embarrassed, and Lalwen smiled at her. “Tired, eh?”

Haleth brushed her hair back out of her eyes and tried to remember what had happened. She and Lalwen had gone out to lunch, and then, unwilling to break off their conversation, had come back to Lalwen’s house. And after that… She blushed, remembering. There had been the intention of watching a movie, which had quickly deteriorated into making out on the couch, followed by… Haleth hurriedly did up her jeans, while in the background the menu options on the dvd they’d supposedly been watching played their repetitive music.

“You drifted off,” said Lalwen softly. “I would have let you sleep, but,” she gestured to her lap ruefully, “I had to pee. Which I am going to now do.” She smiled and ran a hand over Haleth’s hair before getting up and vanishing through the living room door.

Haleth leaned back on the couch, pressing her hands to her hot cheeks. Would there come a time when she could look at Lalwen without blushing like a schoolgirl? So far, it hadn’t arrived.  In fact, the only time she didn’t feel like an overgrown teenager with a crush was when all thought was banished by physical touch. When she was sitting astride Lalwen’s lap, fingers knotted in Lalwen’s short hair, kissing her lips bruised, only then did Haleth forget to be shy. Then she would forget that Lalwen was ten years older than her, an actual adult with an actual life and an actual place of her own, whereas Haleth was a twenty-one year old college kid, still living in a messy dorm room, eating ramen five out of seven days of the week, her main preoccupations midterms and managing her work study hours in the dining hall. Lalwen spent her weekends, when she wasn’t working, at museums and art openings, or heading out to the country for overnight hikes and camping. Haleth’s typical weekend was getting high and arguing with Caranthir about whether John Galt was a closeted homosexual.

Haleth chewed her lip, a new anxiety creeping in. _Caranthir_. While she’d made it very clear to him that she was interested in him as nothing more than a friend, that didn’t make the fact that she was seeing – dating? Hooking up with? – her best friend’s aunt any less…awkward.

His funny, smart, sexy aunt, who was coming back into the room now, having changed into a loose shirt that had slipped down to expose one freckled shoulder…

Lalwen grinned at her, and every thought of Caranthir, and what he might have to say about this, went flying out of Haleth’s head. There were far more important things to consider, like the way Lalwen’s grey eyes sparkled when she smiled, and her _dimples_ , and –

“It’s getting on towards dinner time. Want to stay?”

“Yes,” said Haleth, without having to think about it, and felt warm all the way down to her toes as Lalwen bent over the back of the couch and pressed a light kiss to her lips.

“You’re vegetarian, right? Not vegan, though?” Haleth shook her head. “Wonderful. I’ve got some excellent chèvre, and fresh arugula from the farmer’s market. Goat cheese quesadillas work for you?”

Haleth felt her mouth start to water almost immediately. How was this her real life? Ramen and her grungy dorm room had never felt further away. “That would be perfect.”

They sat at the table together, and ate their quesadillas and drank a delicious white wine that Lalwen had pulled from the back of the fridge – “Fëanaro gave this to me, so it’s probably a better wine than either of our undiscerning palates will be able to appreciate. But wine’s wine, right?” – and talked about the possibility of a weekend trip to New Hampshire to go climbing.

“Have you done any climbing in the Whites? My favorite place has been closed to access for a couple years now because of peregrine nests, but there are others.”

“I actually went ice climbing last winter, somewhere near Manchester, I think? But I haven’t been out in the non-snowy season…”

They were interrupted by a pounding on the door. Lalwen set down her wine, looking up quizzically. “Huh. Let me go see who that is.”

 

-

 

Caranthir stood outside his aunt’s door, feeling a buzz of anxiety and anger under his skin. Finally, he was going to get some answers, or be damned. He ran over the questions he had prepared in his head. If she would just answer the door… He raised his fist to knock again, and the door opened.

Lalwen stood there, looking up at him curiously. “Moryo - ?”

“Look,” he began at once. “I want – ” But he broke off as his gaze traveled over her shoulder. He took in the low light, the kitchen table set for two, the wine, the candles…and Haleth, who was looking at him with surprised dark eyes.

He lowered his hand.

“What is it you want?” prompted Lalwen, hand still on the doorknob.

“Nothing,” he said. “ _Nothing_.” He turned to go, and she stepped into the hall after him, frowning.

“Morifinwë…what’s going on?”

“Nothing!” he snapped, and clenched his jaw against the wild surge of anger and disappointment rising in his throat. “My questions have been answered, okay? Enjoy your _date_ , you cradle robber.” And he stormed down the stairs, feeling the color suffuse his cheeks even as Lalwen repeated, half amused, “Cradle robber? Okay, that’s fair. Hey, Moryo – Moryo, come back - ”

But he was already out on the street.

A bar. He desperately needed to find a bar.

“Oh, hello,” someone said, as he rounded the corner, determined to find somewhere, anywhere he could drink himself stupid, “Fancy seeing you out here, Carnistir.”

 

\----

 

Maglor came downstairs and frowned to see Celegorm and Curufin pressing their ears to Caranthir’s closed door.

“What are you doing?”

“Shhh!” hissed Celegorm, flapping a hand at him. “We’re trying to listen.”

“To what?”

“Moryo has someone is his room,” murmured Curufin, still listening intently. “Someone who’s been in there since last night.”

Squashing his own curiosity, Maglor shooed them away from the door. “For god’s sake, leave him alone.”

“Spoilsport,” muttered Celegorm, but he retreated.

“Is it Haleth?” Maglor asked, unable to help himself, when they were all in the kitchen, Curufin curled into a chair, Celegorm slouched against the counter.

“Nah, bro, didn’t you hear? I mean, for one, she’s as gay as the day is long, but also rumor has it she’s been hooking up with some older chick.”

“I think Moryo got some details last night. He looked furious, but he wouldn’t tell me anything,” said Curufin, wrapping his arms around his shins and resting his chin on his knees. “So I guess he went out and drowned his sorrows…”

“…in booze and sex,” finished Celegorm, looking rather proud. “I always knew the day would come when he’d prove he was related to me.”

“What time did he get in?”

Curufin shrugged. “Well after we were all asleep.”

“So how do you even know he had someone over?”

Curufin shot him a look. “You didn’t hear?”

“My room’s not over his; Maitimo’s is – I mean, was.”

Curufin sighed. “I got up in the night to use the bathroom and…heard them.” His face twisted a little in distaste. “It was…pretty evident.”

“So he woke me up to verify,” said Celegorm cheerfully. “Which I did. And I have to say – props to Moryo. Didn’t think he – ahaha – had it in him.”

 

-

 

In his room, Caranthir exhaled as he heard the voices retreat to the kitchen. “All right, I think they’re gone.”

“Do they always do that when you have someone over?”

Caranthir flushed. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Ah.” His companion nodded. “But they’re gone now?”

“Well, in the kitchen, anyway.”

“Hmm. It’s going to be interesting leaving.”

Caranthir chewed his lip. “You could go out the window.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Look, Findekáno used to leave via the second floor window all the time. You wouldn’t even have much of a drop!” 

His companion sighed and rolled over so they were pressed together once more. “This was a pretty bad idea.”

“Yes,” said Caranthir, trying not to twitch at the sensation of warm bare skin against his. “I’m not even – I mean, I never thought that – ”

“Indeed.”

“You don’t even like me.”

“What gave you that impression?” A hand ran down his side, and Caranthir bit his lip as a long leg was draped over his thigh. “What exactly about last night made you feel disliked? I would have thought I made my…ah, desires fairly clear.”

“Not last night,” said Caranthir, “just…in general.”

“I like you,” said his companion thoughtfully. “But you are rather hard to talk to, so we haven’t spoken much in the past. But I have always found you interesting.”

“And,” said Caranthir, struggling to keep his voice steady as warm lips found his neck, “I’m pretty sure you’re not single.”

“There’s that, too.”

Caranthir shivered at the words spoken directly into his ear, and he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and threading his fingers into soft hair and tugging lightly to elicit the moans he remembered from the night before. “…So what, you just don’t care?”

“I didn’t say that.” The low voice was slightly breathless now, and Caranthir felt the heat rise in him as the bright head fell back, exposing a long throat. He yielded to the temptation to latch his mouth to it, and was rewarded with a gasp.

“Why did you do it then?” Caranthir asked, his lips moving against hot skin, closing his eyes as clever fingers took him in hand.

“It’s a terrible quality of mine,” whispered his companion, “but bad ideas have always turned me on.”

 

-

 

“My money’s on whatshername, that friend of Turukáno’s.”

“Who, Melleth? No way. Not his type.”

“What _is_ his type? Other than unavailable or uninterested…”

“Um. Brunette?”

“Not even. Remember that blonde girl in high school?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“We should stop,” said Maglor at last. “And when they come out, be…normal, okay? Just casual conversation. Offer her a cup of coffee…”

“Are we sure it’s a her?” asked Celegorm, propping his elbows on the table. “I mean, some of those sounds we heard…”

“I was trying not to pay too close attention,” said Curufin, looking nauseated. “But – ”

“Is the shower free?” Caranthir wandered into the kitchen, towel slung over his shoulder.

“Moryo!” Three avid faces turned to him. Celegorm actually craned his neck to peer over and around his brother.

“…where are they?”

“Where are who?” asked Caranthir.

“Your fu – guest from last night,” said Celegorm, grinning. “Where have you hidden them?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Caranthir coolly, though some color was rising on his cheeks. “I didn’t have anyone over last night.”

“Hah!” Celegorm hooted. “Then, man, your solo time is _rockin’_.”

Curufin stifled a laugh with a cough.

“Okay, enough,” broke in Maglor. “Tyelko, shut up. Moryo, it’s really fine. Don’t let your guest feel like they need to hide…”

“There’s no one here,” Caranthir insisted, scarlet now. “Now, if no one’s using the shower, I’m just going to…” He gestured illustratively with his towel and marched up the stairs, his brothers staring after him.

“I guess that’s that,” said Maglor quietly. “We should just leave well enough alone.”

There was a silence.

“I’m going to look,” said Celegorm, jumping to his feet. Huan leapt up with an excited bark from where he’d been curled at the foot of Celegorm’s chair.

“Tyelko – ” called Maglor exasperatedly, but Celegorm was already vanishing around the corner.

“I think I’ll look too,” said Curufin casually, sliding from his chair. “Just out of curiosity…”

Maglor buried his face in his hands. “Maitimo, where are you when I need you?” he muttered. But against his better judgment, he followed.

Celegorm was hanging off the doorknob, peering into Caranthir’s room, Curufin peeking over his shoulder.

“Well?”

“There’s no one here,” said Celegorm, scrutinizing the tangled bed sheets. “But damned if the window isn’t open…”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. As interested in Maedhros and Azaghâl's drunken night as Fingon is? [WONDER NO MORE.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2460803)


	22. Everybody’s got a secret (uh huh)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fools in love. And things other than love. Foolishness. Generally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Warnings for: lots of feelings talk, followed by refusal to talk about feelings, followed by blowjobs.

Galadriel put down the hairbrush and pulled her fingers through Aredhel’s hair. “What is it you’re afraid of?”

Aredhel let out a snort of laughter. “Everything.”

Galadriel smiled as she parted Aredhel’s hair and began a braid. “Can you narrow it down a bit?”

Aredhel sighed and leaned back against Galadriel’s legs. She was seated cross-legged on the floor, while Galadriel sat on the couch behind her. She looked sadly at her cup of tea. “…Red wine would be more conducive to this conversation.”

“It’s 10am on a Tuesday.”

“So?”

“Irissë.”

Aredhel groaned. “You’re not allowed to lecture me when you’re my baby cousin.”

“I am _one year_ younger than you.”

“Still not allowed.”

“Ireth.” Galadriel’s hands were gentle as she tugged lightly on Aredhel’s hair. “What do you worry will happen if you tell her?”

“That she’ll think of me differently,” said Aredhel, and closed her eyes. “That she’ll think of me as broken. As a _survivor_ , ugh, fuck that. As…not me, anymore. That she’ll feel sorry for me.”

“You don’t want her sympathy?”

“I don’t want her _pity_.”

“And what about her understanding?” Galadriel tied off the braid, and began on another.

“I dunno. What if she doesn’t understand?”

“She likely won’t be able to understand everything, not fully. But I think she’ll understand better why you react the way you do about certain things,” said Galadriel. “Then she won’t have to worry it’s something she’s doing wrong when you respond to certain things with anger or defensiveness. Isn’t that better than her thinking you’re angry at her for something she did wrong?”

“Yes,” said Aredhel. “But – She’s going to think of me differently.”

“Well,” said Galadriel thoughtfully, “our perceptions of people always change with time. But will she love you less? I don’t think so. All she’ll have is a greater understanding of you and your history.”

“Maybe I don’t want her to know me that well,” said Aredhel, and she dropped her face into her hands. “ _Fuck_ , Nerwen.”

“You’re not obligated to tell her,” said Galadriel, finishing the second braid calmly. “But I suspect you will feel better for it.” She rested her hands on Aredhel’s shoulders, and dropped a light kiss to the top of her cousin’s head. “And she will likely wish to know why you’ve spent the weekend in my bed.”

“Because you’re cuddly and soothing,” said Aredhel, tipping her head back on Galadriel’s knees and gazing up at her. “And you have an understanding boyfriend.”

“I was happy to spend the weekend on the couch,” said Celeborn from the kitchen, where he was eating cereal while perched on the countertop. “It was my pleasure.”

“The absurd thing is that you’re not being sarcastic,” said Aredhel. “Keep a hold of that one, Nerwen, he’s special.”

Galadriel glanced up at Celeborn and couldn’t hold back a smile. “I think I will.” She tapped her fingers against Aredhel’s temples. “You’ve got a special one too, Ireth. And whether or not you tell her the whole truth, she deserves not to feel like she’s done something wrong. You’re going to make her think she’s losing you.”

“She’s not,” said Aredhel, panicked. “I love her.”

“You should probably call her then,” said Galadriel. “She’s been home a day already.”

“…okay,” said Aredhel, very quietly, and buried her nose in her teacup.

Finrod came out then, making for the kitchen. “I’m heading to campus for a meeting,” he said, reaching behind Celeborn for an apple from the fruit bowl. “Anyone else going?”

“I don’t have class until noon,” said Galadriel. “Did Aiko give you – ”

“Yes,” said Finrod, sighing. “I’m going to return it.”

“That idiot,” said Galadriel with loving patience. “Our brother is such a fool.”

“Yes, well,” said Finrod, grabbing his coat as he took a bite from his apple. “We all can be rather foolish when it comes to love, can’t we?”

 

-

 

Haleth locked her bike outside the philosophy building and looked around as she clipped her helmet to her backpack. Her classmates were streaming into the building, and she raked the crowd for a familiar tall, dark-haired figure. No luck.

She settled back against the sun-warmed bricks of the building, glancing at her watch. Five minutes until class started; that was plenty of time. She closed her eyes, letting the late morning sun play over her face. It reminded her of waking up that morning in a bright, sunlit room; Lalwen’s murmur in her ear, Lalwen’s warm hand sliding over her belly. She indulged herself with the memory a moment, eyes still closed, smiling slightly as the sun caressed her skin, thinking of Lalwen’s laugh and the brush of her lips on Haleth’s bare shoulder.

“Enjoy it while you can.”

Haleth’s eyes snapped open and she almost lost her balance as she slipped sideways on the wall. A hand reached out and steadied her, and she looked up into Caranthir’s dark eyes.

“It’s supposed to rain this afternoon.”

“What? Oh.” Haleth looked up and scanned the sky. “Right.”

Caranthir released her and hefted his bag over his shoulder. “Did you get the reading done?”

“Yes.” Haleth gazed at him, wondering what to say. Were they just going to pretend nothing had happened? That wasn’t her style. “Look, Moryo, can we – ”

“The essay questions were pretty predictable,” he said, locking his own bike next to hers. “Also fairly easy to bullshit.”

“That’s what I generally do in this class anyway,” she said. “Um, but hey, about this past weekend – ”

“Yeah. How much of the econ problem set did you get done?”

“All but the last question,” she said, starting to get frustrated. “But about me and your – About Lalwen – ”

“That’s what everyone I’ve talked to has said,” said Caranthir, his face inscrutable. “The last question was phrased really weird. I might email the professor about it.”

“ _Moryo._ ”

“Oh, hello!”

Haleth looked up, still half guilty and half impatient, and saw Finrod approaching them.

“Haleth! I was looking for you.”

“Why?” she asked, taken aback.

“I have something for your roommate,” he said, and grimaced slightly. “Ah. From my brother.”

“Oh _no_.” Haleth held up her hands warningly. “I am NOT acting as go between for Andreth and your brother. Not again.”

Finrod held out a bundle with an apologetic smile. “It’s just a sweater she left at our place.”

Haleth chewed her lip but took the sweater begrudgingly. “Is Aikanáro still too much of a – ” She paused, remembering she was speaking to his older brother. “Um. Too _uncomfortable_ to interact with Andreth himself?”

“It seems so,” said Finrod, sighing. “I am sorry it’s been so awkward. I quite liked them together.”

“That’s not quite how she saw it,” Haleth said, and bit her tongue again, holding back the phrase Andreth had used about Finrod and his thoughts on the relationship.

“I can see how she’d think that,” said Finrod quietly. “I’m afraid I wasn’t as…helpful as I could have been. But at any rate, will you pass it along? Along with my apologies, if you find it appropriate?”

“I guess so,” said Haleth, stuffing the sweater into her backpack. “We should go in, Moryo, class is about to start.” _I guess we’ll just have to discuss everything else later_ , she thought, trying not to feel a little relieved.

“Yeah, right,” said Caranthir, who’d gone very quiet.

Finrod smiled at him. “Are you walking back from campus after this, Carnistir?”

“Yes,” said Caranthir, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Why, are you?”

“Yes.” Finrod flicked his hair back for his face and shaded his bright blue eyes with a long hand as the sun came out from behind a cloud. “I have to meet with my advisor for an hour, but then I’m done. Only a couple hours on campus a week these days, now I’ve gotten all my PhD classwork completed. If you want company walking home, I’ll meet you here?”

“Sure,” said Caranthir, and Finrod smiled.

“I’ll see you then. Haleth, it was good seeing you. Give my best to Andreth, will you?” He touched Haleth’s hand lightly, and brushed against Caranthir’s shoulder as he turned to leave.

Haleth watched Caranthir shiver slightly and push his hands deeper into his pockets. She narrowed her eyes as she followed him into the building.

_I never even knew they were particularly good friends._

_Odd._

 

-

 

It was late afternoon when the rain began in earnest.

Caranthir slipped out of his room, pulling the door shut behind him. He looked up and jumped. Celegorm was sitting on the couch opposite, grinning like a shark.

“Hey, Moryo.”

“Hey.” Caranthir gave him a suspicious look and made to cross the room, but Celegorm stretched out his legs, blocking his way.

“It’s been a while since we talked, little bro. How are things going?”

“Fine.” Caranthir scowled and stepped over Celegorm’s legs.

“Oh, yeah? Anything new in your life?”

“No. Stop being so weird, Tyelko.”

Celegorm looked hurt. “I’m not being _weird_ , I’m trying to have a conversation with my brother. Why are _you_ being so evasive?”

“I’m not being evasive,” said Caranthir. “I’m just going to the bathroom, for fuck’s sake.”

Celegorm folded his arms and raised his eyebrows expectantly. “Who’s in your room right now, Moryo?”

“No one,” said Caranthir at once.

“No one, eh?” Celegorm looked deeply skeptical. “So ‘no one’ was in there with you doing something so vigorous that our pictures are now crooked?” Celegorm pointed a condemnatory finger at the wall adjacent to Caranthir’s door, where a framed photo of their family was now hanging off-kilter.

Caranthir blushed, but said stubbornly. “No one’s here.”

“Oh no?” Celegorm sprang lightly to his feet and crossed the room with surprising swiftness. “Then you won’t mind if I look, huh? I think there’s a CD of mine you borrowed that I want back, anyway…”

“Tyelko - !”

It was too late. Celegorm whipped open the door with a grin, and his eyes widened. A slim, blond-haired figure was sitting up in the bed, bare-chested and with the sheets draped loosely over his waist, absorbed in his phone. He looked up and paused a moment before giving Celegorm a slight smile.

“Good afternoon, Tyelkormo.”

There was a pregnant silence as Celegorm opened his mouth, looking astonished, until Caranthir seized him roughly by the shoulder and jerked him back, slamming the door shut.

“ _Enough_ , Tyelko!”

“Holy shit,” said Celegorm, still staring at the closed door.

“Happy? Now go the fuck away – ”

“Kinda happy, yeah. That was Findaráto in your bed. Right? I’m not hallucinating here? You’re fucking _Findaráto_.”

Caranthir looked simultaneously furious and embarrassed. “…Yes. Okay? Don’t tell anyone.”

“I didn’t know you slept with guys.”

“I don’t,” said Caranthir, and went redder as Celegorm laughed. “Or. I didn’t. This is a one-time thing, all right?”

“Boy, I feel you,” said Celegorm, clapping him on the shoulder. “ _Been there._ ”

“I’m serious.”

“ ‘Course you are. Not a bad place to start, man, Findaráto is _hot_ – ”

“Thank you,” said Finrod, emerging from Caranthir’s room, more or less clothed and pulling on his sweater. “That’s very kind of you to say, Tyelkormo. I would, however, appreciate if you kept this to yourself.”

“Yeah,” said Caranthir, averting his eyes from both his brother and from Finrod. “That’s what I was saying.”

Celegorm looked thoughtfully at Finrod. “Are you still with Amarië?”

“That’s my business,” said Finrod lightly. “Nevertheless, Tyelko, your discretion…”

“You’ve got it,” said Celegorm, still watching Finrod. “I’ll keep it to myself, even if this IS the best piece of gossip I’ve had since Nelyo and Findekáno got back together. The first time.”

“I should be going,” said Finrod, running his fingers through his hair to settle it. “I told Artanis I’d be around for dinner.”

“It’s pouring out,” said Celegorm. “You should give him a ride, Moryo.” He coughed, and attempted to hide his smirk. “…So to speak.”

 

-

 

As Caranthir drove, Finrod leaned against the window, watching the rain run down the glass.

“It’s too bad the rain is so heavy,” he said. “It’s going to bring down some of the best foliage.”

Caranthir didn’t answer.

“Still, there’s something soothing about rain,” Finrod went on. “I always like falling asleep to – ”

“Why me?” asked Caranthir abruptly.

“I’m sorry?”

“Why me?” Caranthir stared straight ahead, keeping his eyes on the road. “Why’d you go home with me that night? And today? If you wanted to cheat on your girlfriend – ”

Finrod drew in a breath, and Caranthir glanced at him. “…you are cheating on her, aren’t you?”

“We have...an understanding,” said Finrod, noncommittally.

“Whatever that means,” said Caranthir. “Fine. But you really could have gone home with anyone. Why me?”

“Why not you?”

“Because,” said Caranthir, frustrated. “You said it yourself. I’m not particularly easy to talk to, I’m not nice or interesting, or that good at anything, and everyone knows I’m the ugly one.”

Finrod turned in his seat, studying Caranthir closely. “Who says that?”

“No one,” said Caranthir. “Out loud, anyway. But it’s obvious, isn’t it? Everyone knows Nelyo and Curvo are the perfect ones, and Makalaurë and Tyelko get people falling all over them, too. Even the twins are better looking than I am. Curvo has people hit on him all the time, and he literally would rather set himself on fire than flirt back. Meanwhile, the only girl I’ve liked in the past two years would rather date my dad’s sister than me.”

“I’m still not over that. What a fascinating development. I wonder what our fathers will say?” Caranthir shot him a look and Finrod cleared his throat. “…I’m sorry. We can talk about that later. Look, Carnistir, why wouldn’t I want you? I like talking to you. I liked talking to you the other night when you actually opened up for once. And I think you’re hot.”

Caranthir took his eyes off the road again to gape at Finrod.

“I wanted you from the first time we ran into each other that night,” Finrod went on, imperturbably. “And I knew I’d made a good choice when I kissed you and you immediately pushed me against a wall and had your hands under my clothes in under a minute. I appreciate that kind of enthusiasm. Was it your first time with a guy? Because if so, you’re _quite_ a quick learner. And you have impressive endurance. I really enjoy what you do with your – ”

“Ingoldo,” said Caranthir, a little hoarsely. “You need to stop talking like that.”

“Why? You wanted to know why I slept with you…”

“Because I’m going to drive off the road if you keep it up.”

Finrod tilted his head to the side, musingly. “I think you should pull over.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to go down on you.”

Caranthir swore. “God _dammit,_ Findaráto.”

Finrod looked at him, smiling faintly. “You need further proof that I find you desirable? I’m serious. Pull over.” He reached across and laid a hand on Caranthir’s thigh. “…or I could start now.”

Caranthir jerked the wheel sharply as Finrod’s hand slid into his lap and palmed him lightly through his jeans. “You’re going to fucking make me crash.”

“Which is why you should pull over.” Finrod sounded amused. “Hmm…you’re hard already.”

“You really – ” Caranthir gritted his teeth, and looked over his shoulder as he swerved into the right lane, looking for a place to pull over. “ – _need_ to stop talking like that.”

“I don’t know,” said Finrod. “I kind of like the effect it has on you.”

Caranthir pulled over and yanked on the parking brake with a certain amount of force. Finrod hummed, pleased, and began to undo Caranthir’s jeans.

“Anyone could see us,” said Caranthir, in a low voice.

“It’s pouring rain,” Finrod pointed out. “It’s not a very busy road. And if they do see,” he smiled, and his eyes shone, “well, that’s kind of hot, isn’t it?”

“Fuck,” said Caranthir, as Finrod’s hand closed around him. “I didn’t know – I had no idea you were like this.”

“Mmm.”

“Do you get off on this kind of thing?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?” asked Finrod, as he slid across the seat to lean against Caranthir’s side, and watched with half-lidded eyes as his fingers wrapped around Caranthir’s cock.

“No.” Caranthir gasped and dug his fingers into Finrod’s leg.

“Well, let me be the first.” Finrod caught Caranthir’s jaw with his other hand and pulled him into a kiss. “And let this be an illustration of how entirely _desirable_ I find you.”

“I…I’m convinced,” Caranthir managed, and his head dropped back against the seat as Finrod bent down to take him into his mouth.


	23. If you’re feeling like I feel then run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been noted that the walls are rather thin at 1495 Mithrim Lake Road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Warnings for: Hook-ups/cheating, masturbation, sexual self-disgust. Also for an absurdly long chapter (by my standards).  
> 1\. My kingdom to Silje for what was essentially a beta, but also for being my fucking muse. And petting my hair and making soothing noises when I was flailing.

“Ouch!”

Caranthir winced as Finrod, fumbling busily for his belt, overbalanced and pulled them both against the wall.

“Sorry,” murmured Finrod, and dragged Caranthir’s belt free.

“Careful.” Caranthir shot a look at the door as he braced his arms against the wall on either side of Finrod’s shoulders. “These walls don’t seal sound worth a damn.”

“Mm,” said Finrod, and pushed Caranthir over to the bed. “Seems like a design flaw in a house of five brothers.”

“Four, now,” said Caranthir, falling back on the bed, distracted as Finrod straddled his hips. It was odd to think that Maedhros was no longer just upstairs; their oldest brother had been there so long that Caranthir still sometimes thought of it as ‘Nelyo’s place’ before he thought of it as his own.

“That’s right,” said Finrod, and kissed him.  “So there is no one in the room above us, at least.”

 _And how surprised would Nelyo be that there was anything at all to hear from my room?_ Caranthir brought his hands to Finrod’s waist, sliding Finrod’s shirt up so he could get at the hot, smooth skin beneath. Finrod gave a murmur of pleasure, and Caranthir shushed him.

“Why do we do this at my house?” he whispered, as Finrod bent low over him, nuzzling against his neck. “My brothers are all over the damn place.”

“Unfortunately,” said Finrod, shifting his hips and aligning them so that Caranthir groaned, “I don’t have a place of my own either. And I live with a little sister who can all but see through walls.”

Caranthir thought briefly of Galadriel and shuddered. “Okay, point.”

“Besides, didn’t you say only Tyelko is home? And he already knows…”

“Yeah, but the rest of them could show up at any minute.”

“Better hurry up then,” said Finrod, very seriously, and tugged Caranthir into another kiss.

“Just…just ‘cuz I’m interested,” said Caranthir presently, as Finrod ground down against him. “Does Amarië know about…this? Is this a thing you agreed on? Does she fuck other people too?”

Finrod sighed, managing to look elegantly put out even while half naked and disheveled. “That’s not very good dirty talk,” he said reproachfully, as he lifted one of Caranthir’s hands and kissed the inside of his wrist, his tongue flicking out against Caranthir’s skin.

“I just want to know,” said Caranthir, determined to hold his concentration, even as pleasure sparked sharply through him, “if you’re cheating on her with me.”

The was a pause, and then Finrod said, “She doesn’t know.”

Caranthir let his hand trace the lines of Finrod’s chest. “So that ‘understanding’ thing you mentioned was total bullshit. I thought it sounded like kind of a crock.”

“Does that change anything for you?” asked Finrod, looking down at him.

Caranthir thought. “No,” he said, finally. “I mean, it establishes that you’re kind of an asshole, but I guess I don’t care.” And just now, he really didn’t. Maybe not-so-perfect Finrod was a better match for him than he’d thought. “This is just sex. Right?”

“Right,” said Finrod, and fastened his mouth to Caranthir’s throat.

“Right,” said Caranthir again, breathlessly, and then pushed Finrod back. “No. Wait.”

Finrod took a deep breath, but sat back on his heels and waited.

“I don’t get it,” said Caranthir. “ _Why_? Why are you doing this?”

For the first time, Finrod looked frustrated. “Haven’t we talked about this? Look, why are _you_?”

“Because of her,” said Caranthir, without thinking, and let go of Finrod. “ _Ah_ , fuck.” He knew he was saying the wrong things, as always, saw how Finrod’s face had closed off a little at his words, but he couldn’t help himself. He hadn't meant to think of Haleth, but all of a sudden she was as present in his mind as if she'd been standing in the room with him. He closed his eyes against the sudden surge of bitterness in his throat. “It isn’t fair.”

“What’s not fair?” asked Finrod quietly. He slipped off Caranthir and knelt beside him on the bed.

“The fact that this – you – ” Caranthir gestured abstractedly, “It was so _easy,_ and – ”

“I’m easy, am I?” Finrod raised his eyebrows.

“Yes. I mean – Augh.” He was saying the wrong things again. Caranthir covered his eyes. “See, this is what usually happens when I actually try to talk.”

“It’s okay,” said Finrod. “I _was_ pretty easy, I suppose. Nothing you’ve said has been _wrong._ I’m probably an asshole, too.” He stretched out at Caranthir’s side, not quite touching him. “So what’s not fair?”

“It’s just,” Caranthir rubbed tiredly at his eyes. “I tried so hard with her. I tried for two years. And not only is the girl I fall for not interested in me, but she ends up with my _aunt_. I mean, what the _fuck_? How is that fair? Two years I spent telling myself it might happen, it might work out, just hold on…What a fucking idiot I am. And it’s not just, like, relationships. I haven’t had any – There haven’t been any – ” He broke off, flushing, and Finrod hummed in comprehension.

“You haven’t been with anyone.”

Caranthir nodded, gritting his teeth against the feeling of embarrassment never far beneath the surface. “I haven’t done _anything_ since high school.” He rolled over so he could bury his face in his hands. “Then, as soon as I fucking give up and stop trying – you just want to sleep with me?” He raised bewildered eyes to Finrod’s face. “I mean, what? What am I supposed to take away from that? When I try, I get fucked over, but when I give up and don’t try, I get…”

“Fucked?” suggested Finrod, then looked apologetic. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist.”

“And then there’s you,” Caranthir went on, twisting his fingers into the sheets, “you have everything I want, you’ve got a great relationship and this beautiful girlfriend, and you’re willing to fuck around on her with someone like _me_? I mean, what the hell is up with that?”

“You really know how to sweet talk the guy you’re in bed with,” said Finrod, and sighed.

Caranthir dug his fingers into the mattress, frustrated. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I told you I’m shit at this.”

“Stop,” said Finrod, “it’s okay. Look, I’m…hardly one to give relationship advice. Clearly.” He gestured ruefully at his half-clothed body and the tangled sheets. “So I’m not going to tell you it’s all going to be fine, that you’ll find the perfect girl and it will all work out if it’s meant to be. I don’t think I could say it with a straight face, anyway. But for what it’s worth, I _like_ that you’re shit at this. I like that you don’t mince words, even if it means you’re – well, an asshole at times. It’s refreshing. And kind of charming.”

Caranthir looked at him skeptically. No one had ever accused him of being charming before. Finrod smiled at him, as if he could tell what he was thinking. “I’m serious. And Carnistir,” he reached out and ran his fingers along Caranthir’s jaw, “I really am sorry about Haleth. It’s a terrible thing to have your heart broken. I can’t give you what you wanted with her, but I can give you distraction, if you want it.”

“Yeah,” said Caranthir at last, “distraction. That works.”

It wasn’t all he wanted, it wasn’t all he _needed_ , but right now, it was what he could get. And he’d take it.

“So tell me,” said Finrod, smiling and shifting closer so their bodies pressed together. Without thinking, Caranthir ran a hand from Finrod's ribcage to his waist, sliding his fingers over the jut of his hip-bone. “How best can I distract you?”

Caranthir knew that this was Finrod moving on from the question of Amarië, saw how easily he had skirted it, but decided he no longer cared.

 _Distraction_ , he thought. _I wonder why_ he _needs distraction?_

And then, _I wonder how distracted I can make him._

So he set out to see.

-

It was an interesting and deeply satisfying experiment, and Caranthir soon had Finrod panting against him, pressing hot into his hand.

“Oh – _Oh_ , Carnistir,” he was whispering. “Yes, _yes,_ I’m – ”

Caranthir felt fierce satisfaction surge through him. There weren't many things he felt he excelled at, but it seemed he had a previously undiscovered talent...namely, making Finrod come twice in an afternoon. He shifted his grip slightly, and grinned, pleased with himself, when Finrod actually whimpered.

A knock came at the door and Caranthir immediately clapped a hand over Finrod’s mouth. “What?” he snapped.

Celegorm’s voice sounded amused. “Just thought I should give you a head’s up, bro, that Curvo and Káno are on their way back. So you might want to…uh, finish up and figure out a cover story if you’ve got a certain ‘friend’ in there with you.”

Caranthir kept his other hand wrapped around Finrod, stroking him lightly. Finrod squeezed his eyes shut and bit down on Caranthir’s finger. “Fine,” Caranthir called, wincing. “Now go away.”

He could hear Celegorm laughing as he stepped away. “I’m serious though.” His brother’s voice faded as he moved to the kitchen. “You’ve got like five minutes.”

Caranthir looked up. Finrod’s eyes were desperate and hungry. His lips shaped the word _please_ against Caranthir’s hand. _Desperate and begging is a good look for him_ , Caranthir thought, a little surprised at his dark delight, and answered Finrod’s plea.

-

Exactly three minutes later, Caranthir and Finrod emerged from Caranthir’s bedroom and joined Celegorm in the kitchen, where he gave them both broad grins as he put on the kettle to boil. Finrod straightened his shirt, pushing his sleeves up to his elbows, and reached over to brush a wayward lock of hair out of Caranthir’s eyes. A minute later, Maglor and Curufin came in through the front door, rain sluicing from their jackets. Huan raced to greet them, and sneezed as he encountered the water shaken from their clothing.

“Pouring,” said Maglor peevishly. “Again.”

“It’s hurricane season,” said Curufin, hanging up his jacket and raking his fingers through his damp hair. Huan fled back to Celegorm’s side at the threatening look Curufin gave him. “What do you expect?”

“Seasonal decency,” said Maglor grumpily, pulling off his boots. “There’s an outdoor harvest festival I’m supposed to be performing at tomorrow, and this weather is hardly conducive…”

“This is why _tents_ were invented,” Curufin pointed out, making his way into the kitchen and dodging as Celegorm reached out to ruffle his hair. “Surely the organizers of this festival thing have it in their ability to procure some sort of shelter for their musicians.”

“I wouldn't count on it,” said Maglor, and collapsed onto the sofa.

“Festival?” asked Finrod. He was leaning against the kitchen table and listening with interest.

Curufin looked up, surprised. “Findaráto.” He glanced around reflexively, looking for Maedhros. “What are you doing here? Didn’t you know that Nelyo is living with – ”

“Oh, yes,” said Finrod, and accepted the cup of tea Caranthir offered him. “I'm just here because I ran into Carnistir on campus.”

Curufin wrinkled his nose. “So?”

“So,” said Finrod, as Caranthir fumbled and nearly dropped his own cup of tea, “I offered to help him with the philosophy class he’s taking. It’s one I TA’ed for a couple years back, and I thought I might be able to offer some tips.”

By the sink, Celegorm opened his mouth, grinning, but Caranthir chose that moment to drop his teacup onto Celegorm’s foot.

“Whoops,” he said flatly, as Celegorm swore and leapt back. “My bad.” He leveled a dark look at Celegorm, and Celegorm made a face at him.

“I’ll get a towel,” was all he said, though, and headed down the hallway to the linen closet. Glowering, Caranthir followed him.

“What philosophy class is it?” asked Curufin, ignoring his brothers’ odd behavior and seating himself at the table.

“Existentialist metaphysics,” said Finrod promptly. “Why, are you interested in philosophy?”

Curufin scoffed. “Hardly. Thinking about how one thinks about thinking? How self-indulgent can you get?”

Finrod smiled. “Philosophy is a rather masturbatory pursuit,” he acknowledged. “Perhaps that’s why I enjoy it so much.” He laughed at the look on Curufin’s face. “I’m mostly joking. I think there’s something significant to be said for examining how systems of thought come about, and for understanding how human existence exhibits – or resists – meaning. If we don’t ask the _why_ , then what is the point of being?”

“You truly believe being in itself isn’t answer enough to that question?” demanded Curufin. “It’s our actions that matter, not some metaphysical speculation on whether our existence was predetermined or random or what. And too much navel gazing over the _why_ , especially if it leads one to conclude that there _is_ no meaning, is only going to lead to inertia and apathy. I feel that those who spend too much time absorbed in obscure meta-analysis become negligent in participating in the real world. What a waste.”

“Are you saying I do that?” Finrod raised his eyebrows, a look of teasing accusation on his face. “Surely you don’t think that – ”

Curufin leaned forward, a rebuttal already on his lips, while in the hall, Celegorm shook his head. “My god, do you hear them? Remind me to get earplugs. I’ll need to pick some up anyway if you keep fucking Findaráto on the afternoons I’m the only one home – ”

“Shut up,” hissed Caranthir, shooting a look over his shoulder. “You are so obvious, you jackass.”

“I’m subtle as a fish, brother,” said Celegorm, pulling a towel from the linen closet. “So, how is he in bed?”

“Tyelko!” Caranthir pushed Celegorm further down the hall, away from the kitchen, where Finrod and Curufin were now deeply absorbed in conversation. “I’m not answering that.”

Celegorm gave him a doleful look. “Moryo. I’m keeping your secret. The least you can do is give me the _scoop_.”

“You may be keeping my secret, but I’m also keeping yours,” said Caranthir darkly. “Consider us even.”

“What secret?” Celegorm asked, and then paused. “Oh, right.”

“Right,” said Caranthir. “I don’t tell dad you’re getting boned by your old coach – who’s how many years older than you, by the way? – and you don’t – ”

“Tell anyone you’re having an adulterous affair with our cousin,” said Celegorm sighing, and as Caranthir glared at him, amended, “Step-cousin. Fine. And for the record, Oromë's only, like, 15 years older than me.”

“So you’ll stop making all those stupid faces?” Caranthir prompted.

“What? This is just my face, dude, I can’t control – Okay, fine, I get your point,” said Celegorm hastily as Caranthir stepped toward him menacingly. “My lips are sealed.”

-

Curufin shook his head, smiling as Finrod threw up his hands.

“I can’t believe you’re tearing this out from under me!” Finrod was exclaiming, looking pathetic but laughing. “You realize I’m two years into my doctorate on this subject.”

“My apologies, Findaráto,” said Curufin, coolly, but couldn’t help but laugh too as Finrod sank his head dramatically into his hands.

“Have pity, Curvo,” Finrod said into his hands. “My ego is too fragile to be so devastated by a freshman.”

“It is a very fragile ego then,” said Curufin. “But look at it this way – perhaps if your studies have prepared you for anything, it’s for exactly such an existential crisis.”

“Oh, shut up, you monster,” said Finrod, raising his face, but he looked more amused than anything. “You are too smart for your own good.”

“I’ve said that for years,” said Celegorm, coming back into the kitchen with a towel to mop up the spilled tea. Huan raised his head from his paws and watched with interest as Celegorm dropped broken pieces of teacup into the trash.

“I should schedule you for an hour before each of my meetings with my advisor,” said Finrod, propping his head on one hand and studying Curufin. “And for a full day before my defense. It will be the perfect preparatory exercise. Even the most rigorous committee couldn’t ask more exhaustive questions than you.”

“I’m at your disposal,” said Curufin, leaning back in his chair. “Any time you need the legitimacy of your chosen field questioned.”

Finrod shook his head and got to his feet to refill his cup. “I should have been taking notes on this conversation,” he said, as he returned, his hand passing lightly over Curufin’s shoulder. “I want to remember some of the points you made.”

Curufin shrugged and brushed absently at his arms as if something was crawling over them.

“What are we doing for dinner?” Maglor called from the living room. “It’s someone else’s turn to cook for once.”

Caranthir opened the refrigerator and scrutinized. “Well, we have – ”

“If you say eggs, I’m out,” said Curufin. “We get it; you make good eggs. Learn another dish.”

“Fine, you cook then.”

“I don’t cook.”

“I’ll cook, you worthless assholes,” said Celegorm, arresting the conversation. “But someone’s gotta do a beer run. Ingoldo, you staying for dinner?”

“I don’t know,” said Finrod regretfully. “It’s tempting, but I should probably head back before too long.”

“Whoever goes to get beer can drive you then,” said Celegorm, pushing Caranthir out of the way and rummaging in the fridge. “Look! Bratwurst. Excellent. And…what the _fuck,_ who bought _tofu?”_

He straightened up, looking horrified, and both Caranthir and Curufin pointed to the living room.

“It was me,” said Maglor. “Would it hurt to – ”

“If I’m cooking, it’s going to be animal-based,” said Celegorm firmly. “Scoot over, Curvo, I need prep space.”

Curufin shifted his seat closer to Finrod’s as Celegorm dumped a cutting board and several vegetables onto the table.

“How did your summer fellowship turn out, by the way?” asked Finrod. “If we can deflect the attention from my doomed pursuits for a moment.” He smiled, resting a hand on Curufin’s arm.

Curufin looked down at Finrod’s hand, seeming momentarily taken aback, and for once at a loss for words. “Oh. Um. It went…fine.”

“What was your topic of research?”

“I,” Curufin closed his eyes briefly, as if trying to refocus. When he opened them again, he looked almost angry. “Listen, I should go do some homework.” He stood up abruptly, twitching his arm from Finrod’s touch.

Finrod blinked, startled. “Oh. Of course. I understand.”

“Right,” said Curufin, and turned, not looking where he was going and nearly treading on Huan’s tail.

“It was good talking to you, Curvo,” Finrod called softly after him, as Curufin vanished upstairs.

-

“Don’t mind him,” said Celegorm, as Finrod watched Curufin go. “He just gets like that sometimes.”

“I hope I didn’t say anything to offend him,” said Finrod, looking concerned.

“Nah,” said Celegorm, tossing the package of bratwurst onto the counter and kicking the fridge shut. “I mean, you might have. It wouldn’t surprise me. I offend him all the time, by accident. But I wouldn’t take it _personally_. Moryo, you’re on prep detail.” He thrust a knife into Caranthir’s hands and pushed him into Curufin’s vacated seat. “Ingoldo, you sure you don’t want to stay? You’re welcome to our humble sausage. I mean, you’ve already sampled some of Moryo’s  – ”

“Subtly put,” said Finrod, as Caranthir brought the knife down viciously on a carrot and said loudly, “How’s that old rugby injury of yours, Tyelko?”

Celegorm chuckled and whisked over to the stove. “What? It was an innocent question, Ingo. Dinner: are you in or out? Oop, word choice again, what am I thinking of…”

“I think I’ll pass on your kind offer,” said Finrod, as Caranthir decimated the carrot with a certain amount of violence.

“Where’d Curvo go?” asked Maglor, coming into the kitchen from the living room, and not paying any attention to Celegorm’s smirk or Caranthir’s scowl. “Did I hear you two talking philosophy?”

“No,” said Finrod, dodging a piece of carrot shrapnel. “What you heard was your younger brother _shattering_ my confidence in my chosen field. He’s pretty impressive, isn’t he?”

“He’s something,” said Maglor dubiously.

“Move, Makalaurë, you’re in the way of my sausage,” said Celegorm, whipping around with a frying pan and bumping Maglor out of the way with his hip.

“So Maitimo’s moved out,” Finrod said, as Maglor sank into a chair. “That must be a change. Do you miss having him around?”

Celegorm yelped and a brief plume of smoke shot from the stovetop.  “Oh, _god_  yes,” said Maglor, with heartfelt sincerity, and pressed his fingers to his temples.

\----

Curufin returned to his room but found himself too distracted to work. The itchy feeling under his skin was back, along with a restlessness that made sitting still an impossibility. He brushed once more at his skin, unable to tell if it was the usual annoyance of touch that had him so jumpy, or if it was something…different. There had been a flutter, a charge, when Finrod had touched him. He paced, impatient with himself.

_Sit down, do your work. Concentrate._

Work was out of the question; his mind was scattered; all over the place.

_Read; go online; do something, anything – distract yourself._

But…

He rubbed at his arm again, irritated, and threw himself down on his bed. He closed his eyes, owning to himself that he recognized this. Every once in a while – rare enough that he could practically count the times – his body would react without his control. He hated it, he always did, felt useless in the face of it: how could something physical prove stronger than his own mind? How could he allow something so messy, so unpleasant, to rule him?

But sometimes, he yielded.

He would admit that in times of stress or anxiety, it could help: _Dopamine,_ his mind would supply helpfully _, release of endorphins. Natural stress relief. Medically proven._

Sometimes he could ignore the urges of his body, never particularly strong anyway, but this did not seem like one of those times. His skin felt oversensitive, and as he stretched his arms over his head, even the drag of the bedspread against his bare skin made him shiver. He clenched his fists against the temptation to reach down and rub his open palm against the growing bulge between his legs, forcing himself to wait.

The shower, yes, that would be better. Cleaner, quicker, no mess, everything down the drain and finished.

 _Why now, though_? The infuriating part of his brain asked, the part that picked at his motives and refused to stay quiet. _Why react so strongly, out of the blue? Why need this now?_

 _Midterms_ , he told himself. _I am stressed and need to…deal with it._

_Or…_

From downstairs, a light, merry laugh floated up. Finrod was still in the kitchen, talking with his brothers. The sound made goose bumps rise on Curufin’s arms and he stepped swiftly from his room into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind him.

_Get it together._

Standing in the hot spray of water, he closed his eyes and tried to will his body to relax, even though his stomach was churning unpleasantly and there was a sudden tightness in his throat, like he was going to cry, or throw up.

 _What are you, a child?_ _Just do what you need to do_.

Gritting his teeth, he pressed his forehead to the cool tile of the shower, and reached down to take himself in hand. He was already hard, and a breath escaped him as his hips jerked involuntarily into the tight heat of his fist.

Usually, pleasure was dark and formless for him; clamped-shut eyes and the clench of his fist, stroking himself off efficiently and as quickly as possible. But today, his closed eyes presented images before him, rather than the usual darkness.

Bright, laughing eyes. A low, warm voice; a smile. A smile on full lips that…

He wrenched his eyes open, gasping, forcing himself to slow down.

_What is going on?_

Determined to ignore the suggestions of his mind, he squeezed his eyes shut again. The hot water sluiced over his shoulders and down his chest, and the sensation of being over-sensitive took him again. The water ran over him, intimate as touch, and his skin tautened in response. He felt himself twitch in his hand, and he bit his lip as he began to stroke once more.

Light hair falling into blue eyes. The touch of a warm hand on his bare arm. Imagining that hand moving higher, to caress his shoulder, to brush fingers against his throat, to…

 _Stop it_.

Those full lips parting in a smile, shaping around his name. That gentle voice…how would it sound crying out? What would those long fingers feel like wrapping around him?

Curufin shuddered convulsively, right on the edge, gasping as he tried to resist the fantasy. But it was too tempting, too captivating.

 _A long body sliding up against his from behind, pressing him forward against the tile of the shower –_ he braced himself now, one hand flat to the wall _– an arm wrapping around his waist while the other hand stroked steadily over him and a soft voice murmured in his ear…_

“No,” he whispered, the sound of the water drowning his voice. “Stop it.” Where were these images coming from?

_The touch of another, the feel of lips on his neck, someone murmuring his name…_

His orgasm, when it came, was so fast and intense that it took him by surprise. He jerked forward into his hand, coming so hard that his head fell forward painfully against the shower tile, and he couldn’t choke back a low moan.

Almost immediately, the shame came, and revulsion.

_What he would think of you, if he knew?_

The very thought made him feel sick, and he straightened up, letting the water wash him clean, rinsing the evidence of his pleasure down the drain. He grabbed the soap and scrubbed himself hard, feeling disgusted.

 _That can’t happen again_ , he told himself. _You’re not allowed to think of him like that._

He flinched and turned his face into the water as he heard again, from downstairs, that familiar laugh.

 _What if he knows?_ Curufin thought, in a sudden panic. He had made a noise, at the end – had he been heard? He let the water drum against his eyelids, and part of him wished for it to fill his mouth, his nose, to smother him and this wretched feeling of shame.

“I’ll drive you home, Findaráto,” one of his brothers was calling from the front hall. “Just let me grab the keys.”

 _Good_ , thought Curufin, but ached and didn’t know why. _The less time he’s here the better._

 _Why would you think of him_? He demanded of himself as he stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his hips. _You know you can’t have him. He has a girlfriend. And he would never even look at you like that._

_Which is good._

_Because you don’t want him. You don’t want anyone. You certainly don’t_ need _anyone._

“I’ll see you this weekend at Maitimo and Findekáno’s.” Finrod’s voice floated up from the front hall. “Good luck with the harvest festival, Makalaurë – Oh, and say goodbye to Curufinwë for me.”

Curufin leaned briefly against the bathroom door and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his face was once again studiously blank. And by the time he went downstairs, neatly dressed and his wet hair swept back from his face, not even his brothers would be able to tell anything was out of the ordinary.  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2\. For the record, I'm with Curvo on the whole philosophy thing. Sorry, Finrod. The only class in college I hated more than my philosophy class...was my other philosophy class.


	24. Whole arsenal stock ready to blow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which birds are fed and a house is warmed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Warnings for brief mentions of pregnancy/abortion, excessive drinking (someday I'll stop warning for booze; you're 24 chapters into this shit-show, you know what you've signed up for), and minor sexual acts.

Aredhel fumbled with the bulky brown-paper package, nearly dropping it as she attempted to untangle her scarf and scrape her hair out of her face.

“Oh – pfth.” She shook her head, finally getting her hair out of her eyes but nearly losing her scarf in the process. “Where did all this wind come from?”

“From the far side of the moon,” said Elenwë, who’d gotten ahead of Aredhel on the path. She stopped and turned back to help. “At least, that’s what my mom always used to tell me when I was little.”

She reached up to settle Aredhel’s scarf and tucked her hair behind her ears. “There.” She smiled up at Aredhel, and Aredhel felt the cold day and her frustration melt away as she smiled back. “C’mon. We’re almost there.” Elenwë turned and trooped back down the path to the duck pond, her golden curls escaping from under her neat grey knit cap.

Once at the bank of the pond, they found a bench and settled themselves, the package in Aredhel’s lap.

Aredhel shifted on the bench, feeling the cold seep through her jeans. “Okay, remind me why we’re doing this?”

“I like feeding the birds during midterms.”

“Why, are they particularly stressed this time of year?” asked Aredhel, and Elenwë bumped her shoulder.

“ _No_ , they’re not, but I am. And I find it soothing.” She gazed out at the grey surface of the pond, the glassy surface carved with little vees as half a dozen mallards made their way to the edge. Aredhel’s attention was caught by the two massive white birds following closely behind the ducks.

“You find swans soothing?” she asked, uneasily.

“I like swans.”

“I don’t,” said Aredhel. “My uncle has some that nest at the far end of his pond. They’re _terrifying_. One of them chased me up a tree once, when I was five.”

“That’s why I like them.” Elenwë smiled dreamily. “They look so lovely and serene and pure – but really, they’re these monstrous demon beasts that will break your arm as soon as look at you.”

“Huh.” Aredhel stared at the big white birds. “Y’know, it’s making more sense why Uncle Arafinwë likes them so much. I think you just described Artanis.”

“Anyway, they’re part two in my midterms coping strategy.” Elenwë tugged the parcel off Aredhel’s lap and began unwrapping it. “The first part is baking. But I put my loaves in the oven in the middle of doing my fluid mechanics practice test, and forgot to set a timer. And so…” She wrinkled her nose and pulled out three hefty, charred loaves of bread, each heavy as a brick.

“And you’re going to feed them to the birds?” Aredhel eyed the loaves. “El. I thought you _liked_ the birds. I think these will be more ballast than nutrition.”

“Oh, hush. Look, they still crumble. And when they get wet…”

“How appetizing.”

“Do you look like a duck? I’m not giving  _you_ my failed bread, so just calm down and feed the birds with me.”

“Yes, ma’am. Understood, ma’am.”

They stood by the lake and threw crumbs to the birds, the swans cutting regally through the common brown hoards, vacuuming up the crumbs with their impressively large orange beaks. Aredhel darted briefly behind Elenwë as one of them came too close.

“Babe.”

“They’re mean,” whispered Aredhel, tucking her face into Elenwë’s hair. “Keep them away from me.”

Elenwë sighed and threw some crumbs further out so the crowd of birds retreated somewhat. “So hey, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

“What’s that?” Aredhel stepped out from behind Elenwë, turning her anxious gaze from the swans to her girlfriend. “Something serious?”

“Just something I felt I should share.” Elenwë held out her hands for the second loaf of bread, and Aredhel handed it to her.

“So, what is it?”

“Did you know I got pregnant last fall?”

Aredhel nearly dropped the loaf of bread. “What?”

“Yes,” said Elenwë, quite calmly, catching the bread and tearing it into pieces. “It was just about a month into dating Turukáno.”

“ _What_? He never – he never said anything – ”

“Well, no,” said Elenwë. “We agreed we didn’t want to tell anyone – Well, except close friends. I told Amarië. I think he told Findaráto.”

“So…you got a – ”

“An abortion, yes.” Elenwë brushed crumbs off her hands matter-of-factly. “Amarië went with me. Turukano wanted to come, but I don’t know, we’d only been together a month, and I was more comfortable having Amarië there anyway. It wasn’t that big a deal, really – I was early enough that I could just take the pill and have a couple gross, uncomfortable days and then it was over. Mostly I lay on the couch and ate Chinese food with Amarië and watched _Keeping up with the Kardashians_.”

Aredhel was silent a little while, watching the swans circle. “Thank you for telling me,” she said finally. “But… _why_ did you tell me? Why now?”

Elenwë tilted her head back, letting the wind blow her hair out of her eyes. “I’ve gotten the feeling there’s something you want – or need – to tell me,” she said. “And I thought it might be easier for you to share your secret if I shared one of mine first.”

She turned to Aredhel then, and plucked the bread from Aredhel’s numb fingers. She laid it on the bench and took Aredhel’s hands in hers. “You know nothing you could tell me would make me stop loving you, right?” she said softly. “And if you’re not ready to tell me – if you’re not ever ready – that’s okay. But whatever it is, it’s not going to make me love you any less.” She stretched up on her toes and kissed Aredhel. Her nose was cold, but her lips were warm, and Aredhel closed her eyes, feeling the sting of tears behind her eyelids.

“You can take as much time as you need,” said Elenwë, when she pulled away, still holding Aredhel’s hands. “But when you’re ready, I’m here.”

“I’m ready,” said Aredhel, her voice a little thick. She cleared her throat and blinked, setting her jaw. “I’m ready for you to hear it.”

As Elenwë wrapped an arm around her waist and looked up at her, Aredhel took a deep breath. The wind sprang up, sending Aredhel’s hair flying out behind her. On the grey surface of the lake, the ducks milled, hunting for leftover scraps of bread. The great white swans, however, turned their backs on the bank and glided away, serene and dangerous against the cold autumn day.

“I was nineteen,” she said. “And someone convinced me I was in love.”

 

\----

 

Outside, yellow leaves skittered against the windows as the wind tossed them skyward. Inside, the little apartment was warm and shining clean, though the kitchen counters were crowded with numerous bottles and glasses. Fingon was singing to himself as he vacuumed, and Maedhros was investigating their refrigerator, confused.

“Finno, this is ridiculous. Why do we have so many – ”

“Are you talking to me?”

“Yes. Why do we have so many – ”

“I can’t hear you!”

“So turn the vacuum off,” said Maedhros, exasperated.

“You’re the one who wanted us to do a ‘deep clean’,” Fingon pointed out, but turned off the vacuum. “What’s up?”

“Forty-five limes, apparently,” said Maedhros letting the refrigerator swing open. “Why did you feel we need so many?”

“Because,” said Fingon patiently. “Your brother is coming, so we will be having an excess of tequila. I promise you that.”

“Which brother – ”

“You have to ask?” Fingon sighed and cast himself down in a chair. “Let’s see if I can jog your memory. The insane one. The big blond one with the dog. The one who uses the term ‘bro’ unironically. The one who got rejected by not one but _two_ frats in college for being ‘too crazy’. The one who snuck into bed with me on three separate occasions. The one who – ”

“I got it,” said Maedhros, holding up his hands. “Forty-five limes for Tyelkormo. Makes sense.”

“They can always be ammunition, in a pinch,” said Fingon, leaning back in his chair. “Anyway, only thing left to do is wait for people to arrive. We’ve got some time before people start showing up, want to make out on the couch until they do?”

“Definitely,” said Maedhros. “Just put the vacuum cleaner away and – ”

The doorbell rang and they looked quizzically at each other.

“What time did you tell people to show up?” asked Maedhros, crossing to the door.

“Eight, I thought,” said Fingon.

Maedhros opened the door. “Turukáno! You’re early.”

“Sorry about that,” said Turukáno, stepping in, his arms full. “I can’t stay long, so I thought I’d come ahead of schedule. Findaráto’s here too.”

“Hey,” said Fingon, getting out of his seat as Maedhros relieved Turgon of his burden. “Good to see you!” He embraced his brother and held him at arm’s length to examine him critically as Finrod squeezed past. “Well, looks like second year hasn’t killed you yet. But med school’s clearly made you a little nuts if you think I’m going to let you leave early tonight.”

“I have to, Findekáno,” said Turgon earnestly. “I have an immunology midterm next week and if I don’t study at least twenty hours– ”

“Fine, fine, you’re off the hook,” said Fingon, releasing him. “But hey, what’s all the stuff you brought?”

“Housewarming gifts,” said Finrod, with a faint smile as he began unloading his own bag. “I brought you a bottle of wine and a _good_ bottle opener. Don’t tell me you don’t need one, Finno, you’ve been using that sorry cousin of a screwdriver since college, don’t lie.”

“And I brought you a pizza peel,” said Turgon. “The pizza stone and _Tasajara Bread Book_ to go with it are coming from Mom and Dad. Oh, and Mom says she forgives you for not telling her Maitimo was moving in, Findekáno, but she says you’d better watch yourself.”

“In other words, Maitimo,” said Finrod, tossing the bottle of wine to Fingon, “If you’re planning on proposing, make sure you ask Anairë’s permission first.”

Maedhros looked flustered, but Fingon laughed. “That’s right, babe,” he said, eyes twinkling. “And remember, I’m only agreeing to live in sin with you because I expect a ring by Christmas.”

“Of course,” said Finrod blithely. “I assumed that was the deal.”

Maedhros looked uncertain, like he wasn’t sure if they were teasing or not.

Fingon slung an arm around Finrod’s shoulders. “Ingoldo’s got my back. Whether it’s harassing you or helping me break up with those two guys I was dating simultaneously…”

Finrod smiled, a little uncomfortably, and Fingon went on,

“…he knows how to set me right. Thank you, dear Findaráto, for being so firm with me when I’m doing something stupid. Making Maitimo uncomfortable about marriage, a _great_ idea. Dating two brothers on the sly, a _mistake_. Getting a tattoo while drunk, a _mistake_.”

“Well, you were going to get an eagle on your bicep. A little unoriginal, don’t you think?” said Finrod. “And anyway, you ended up getting a bunch of things pierced instead, I couldn’t talk you out of that one. By the way, I like how much light you get in this place, Finno.”

“It’s a lot better once Maitimo convinced me to clean the windows,” said Fingon, as Maedhros stood.

“I guess the party’s starting early then,” he said, making his way to the kitchen. “Drinks?”

“One beer,” said Turgon firmly. “Just one, and then I’m off.” He settled himself on a stool at the counter, examining the label on one of the larger bottles of liquor.

“I would like _much_ to drink,” said Finrod, just as decisively. “Did I see limes? I do hope there’s tequila.”

“Bless your pretty head, Findaráto, of course there’s tequila,” said Fingon. “Want to start things off right with a shot?”

“Yes, please,” said Finrod, and Fingon called into the kitchen, “Two tequila shots, Mae. Or three, if you want one yourself. I’m going to go put on some music.”

“What music?” asked Maedhros dubiously, as he grabbed glasses and salt.

“Filthy club music from 2007,” said Fingon. “Obviously. Let me enjoy it while I can; we both know that as soon as Makalaurë arrives he’ll hijack the sound system.”

 

-

 

Maglor locked the car and stepped around to eye the meter. “Think we’ll be okay parking here? Maitimo didn’t mention what we should do about street parking…”

“You’ll be fine,” said Caranthir. “It’s after eight. Hurry up, Makalaurë.”

Celegorm and Aredhel were walking ahead of them, arms linked and heads together, talking animatedly.

“Who’s going to be at this thing anyway?” asked Curufin, dragging his feet.

“The usual crowd, probably,” said Maglor, as they turned onto Hithlum Ave. “Turukáno, if he’s got the time, and Irissë said Elenwë was coming. Then some friends of Maitimo’s from way back, and Findaráto and Amarië…”

“Hunh,” said Curufin, noncommittally, and kicked at a rock.

“455, right?” Celegorm called over his shoulder.

“Yep,” said Aredhel, and tugged him up the stairs.

They didn’t knock, but burst into the apartment. Aredhel flung herself at Fingon, who caught her, laughing, and Celegorm immediately dragged Maedhros down into a headlock.

“Hey, motherfucker, you think you can go two whole weeks without seeing us?”

“Oof,” said Maedhros, and straightened up, wincing, as Celegorm let him go. “I missed you too, Tyelko.”

“We got you a blender,” said Celegorm. “Not my idea, obviously, but Makalaurë insisted.” He winked at Fingon. “ _I_ thought we should get you a sex swing.”

“And _I_ thought that would be a creepy gift to get our brother,” said Maglor, rolling his eyes as he dropped a heavy package onto the table.

“You thought right,” said Maedhros, and pulled Maglor into a hug.

Maglor buried his face in Maedhros’ shirt. “Maitimo, words can’t begin to describe how much I’ve missed you.”

“Melodrama,” said Curufin, scornfully.

“Káno’s a drama queen, go figure,” said Caranthir.

“We ain’t so bad as he makes out,” said Celegorm. “Don’t believe 90% of the stories he tells about us, either.”

Celegorm and Curufin began prowling the apartment interestedly, poking at bookshelves.

“IKEA shelves?” Curufin raised his eyebrows. “Doesn’t Findekáno make enough money to purchase something a little higher class? I mean, I know _you’re_ not exactly flush right now, Nelyo, but I figured at least 45% of the reason you were living with Findekáno was financial solvency.”

“Nice,” said Fingon, looking up briefly from where he and Aredhel were huddled together, whispering. "Good to see you too, Curvo."

“TV’s pretty small,” observed Celegorm, “but the stereo’s nice. And I particularly like the dorks you have installed on the couch.”

“I was wondering when you were going to say hello, Tyelkormo,” said Finrod.

“I’m just having two beers and then leaving,” Turgon announced to no one in particular.

“Is Elenwë coming?” Maedhros asked Aredhel, who was still hanging off Fingon’s shoulder.

“What? Oh, yeah,” said Aredhel, her face lighting up. “She had a dance recital tonight, but she and Amarië are coming after.”

“So where’s the alcohol?” said Caranthir, leaning on the counter, and Celegorm broke away from flipping through Fingon’s DVD collection to clap his brother on the back.

“Asking the right questions. Where’s the booze, Nelyo? Well, the rest of it. I brought tequila.”

 

-

 

Time sped up, after that, then blurred.

Somehow, Caranthir found himself on the couch with Finrod, doing what had to be his third or fourth shot of tequila.

“Best house warming party I’ve been to,” murmured Finrod, licking salt from his fingers in a way that made Caranthir feel twitchy.

He occupied himself with leaning back and peering around at the rest of the party. Fingon and Celegorm were in the kitchen, doing bartending tricks. About an hour before, there had been a knock on the door – “Come in!” Fingon had yelled, as Celegorm tucked a party straw behind his ear, “Door’s unlocked!” – and two people had shown up with a keg. One of them, a bearded man with two impressive full sleeves of tattoos, had actually lifted Maedhros off the floor with the enthusiasm of his hug.

“Azaghâl!” Maedhros had laughed and hugged him back. “What on earth did you bring?”

“A keg of his latest,” said the woman who’d accompanied him, smiling. She was dark-haired, with gauged ears, and her tattoos were restricted to a dragon twining over her collarbones, but she had the same strong shoulders and well-muscled arms as Azaghâl.

“You remember my cousin Telchar, don’t you?”

“I remember your rum,” said Maedhros, warily, and Telchar had laughed, a low, infectious laugh, and tweaked at Azaghâl’s beard.

“I’ve heard stories of that,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “He convinced you to sample some of my experimental batch, eh? I owe you a bottle of my finest in apology.” She reached into her satchel and drew out a bottle of amber liquid. “Happy housewarming, friend.”

Soon, Azaghâl and Telchar had tapped the keg and were surrounded by an admiring crowd. Aredhel was eyeing Telchar’s tattoo appreciatively.

Caranthir felt the couch shift next to him, and saw Finrod sit up a little straighter as the door opened once again.

“Hello!”

It was Elenwë, still in her dance clothes and holding a bottle with a bow. “Sorry I’m late…”

Aredhel swooped down on her immediately and kissed her, as Elenwë laughed and managed to hand the bottle to Maedhros before she dropped it.

“Where’s Amarië?” asked Aredhel, pulling back at last.

“She has a team meeting early in the morning,” said Elenwë, trying to resettle her disheveled curls, which had gotten rumpled in the exuberance of Aredhel’s greeting. “She had to go to bed, but she sends her apologies.” She craned her neck, and waved to Finrod. “She says she’ll text you, Ingo.”

Finrod raised a hand in appreciation. “Thank you.”

Caranthir dropped his gaze to his hands. Beside him, Finrod fumbled at his pockets.

“Where _is_ my cell phone?” He lifted his hips, searching his pockets and the couch underneath him, and Caranthir looked away, cheeks burning, Finrod’s posture suddenly horribly evocative.

“Oh, here it is.” Finrod located his phone and stared at it a moment, before swiping the screen dark. “Right.” He shook his hair out of his eyes and dropped his phone to the table. He turned bright eyes onto Caranthir, and Caranthir jumped at the sudden warmth of Finrod’s hand on his thigh. “I think I need another drink. How about you?”

 

-

 

Time blurred again.

Azaghâl settled down on the living room floor with a foaming pint of his own beer, and soon he and Caranthir were engaged in an interesting conversation about hops and the benefits of wood casking. In the kitchen, Telchar was leading an impromptu rum tasting, holding up her glass so it caught the light. “Children, you are about to learn about _good_ liquor.”

Caranthir was trying to listen to what Azaghâl was expounding on – when had they moved from beer brewing to bicycle maintenance? – but he was distracted by the warm press of Finrod against his side. By all appearances, Finrod was wrapped up in conversation with Turgon, who’d flopped down on the couch with his fifth beer and was murmuring about transplant rejection to anyone who would listen.

When for the fourth time Caranthir had lost his train of thought because Finrod had, apparently thoughtlessly, laid a light hand on his leg, or had stretched in a way that made his shirt pull tight against his chest, he was close to convinced he’d have to excuse himself to the bathroom to recover his composure. He was arrested, however, by yet another arrival.

“Artanis!”

Aredhel and Elenwë pulled a laughing Galadriel into the crowd in the kitchen, and Finrod cleared his throat lightly. “Well, that’s my cue,” he said, so quietly that Caranthir was sure no one but he had heard, “I’m going to head to the bathroom,” he said, louder, and patted Turgon on the leg. “Good luck with studying, Turno.”

“I’m leaving now,” said Turgon, struggling to get up. “For real this time.”

Finrod smiled and stood and picked his way neatly through the crowd to the hallway, leaving Caranthir with the lightest brush against his shoulder.

In the kitchen, Celegorm roared, “Are you crazy, woman? I could drink you under the table!”

“Big words, sunshine!” Telchar called back, laughing. “You want to go?”

“Hell, yes.”

“Who’s your second?”

“Irissë,” said Celegorm promptly, and seized Aredhel by the shoulder as she passed.

“Yo,” said Aredhel, raising her beer. “I’m in. Wait, what are we doing?”

“Azaghâl!” shouted Telchar. “Get your ass over here; we’re going to show these children how we do it in the Blue Mountains!”

In the uproar that followed, Caranthir got quietly to his feet and slipped away.

 

-

 

Curufin leaned against a wall, arms crossed, drumming his fingers as he watched the cacophony unfold before him. Celegorm and Aredhel were going shot for shot with Telchar and Azaghâl, while Caranthir had long since vanished in that way that Caranthir always did. Curufin couldn’t blame him, tonight. The music and the babble of voices were beginning to drum painfully against his temples, and he wished he could escape. He looked briefly to Maglor, wondering if he could talk his brother into driving him home, but Maglor was curled up on the couch deep in conversation with Maedhros. As Curufin watched, Maglor laid his head against Maedhros’ shoulder and Maedhros laughed and draped an arm around him. Curufin grimaced. He knew how much Maglor had been missing their older brother; he should give him a bit more time, at least.

“Hey, Curvo,” Fingon called, from the kitchen, where he was still mixing drinks behind the counter, “want something to drink?”

“No, thank you,” said Curufin, and Elenwë nudged Fingon’s shoulder. She was perched cross-legged on the counter, watching him bartend.

“Some of us actually abstain,” she said, smiling at Curufin.

“Yeah, yeah, you only abstain because _last_ time you got drunk you ended up – ”

“Oh, hush, we’re over that...”

“Come on, now that you’ve dated more than half my siblings, aren’t I entitled to make a little fun?” Fingon dodged as Elenwë aimed a kick at him. “Turukáno can even be in the same room as you and Irissë without looking like he’s sucking a lemon. I have _so much_ teasing saved up from that whole episode.”

“I liked you better when you were too uncomfortable to be anything but polite to me.”

“You’ll find that never lasts long,” said Fingon, sticking a cocktail sword into his hair. “All right, if I’m not making any more drinks, I’m going to go watch my sister give herself alcohol poisoning.”

“Dibs not cleaning up if she pukes,” said Elenwë, sliding off the counter.

“Isn’t that basic girlfriend duty?”

“It’s definitely a big brother duty. I’ll hold her hair back and make soothing sounds. You scrub.”

“Awesome. This sounds like a good deal for me.”

Curufin sighed and dropped back against the wall with a thump. He would never understand the appeal of these kinds of events. When it was too loud to hear anything anyone was saying, and everyone was too addled to say anything interesting anyway… Why would anyone intentionally dull their intelligence for an evening, literally drinking poison that would guarantee misery the next day? He wondered if Finrod was still eloquent while intoxicated, and decided he probably was.

Curufin caught himself and scowled. That was the third time this evening he’d broken his promise not to think of Finrod. Though granted, it was hard not to think of him when he had been there in the room, color high on his cheeks, laughing at something Caranthir had said, his bright hair falling into his eyes…Curufin shook himself, angry again, and jumped when someone touched his arm.

“Hello, Curufinwë,” said Galadriel. She smiled at him, but Curufin looked up at her distrustfully. Even though she’d never been anything other than kind to him, there was something about Galadriel that unsettled him.

“Hello,” he said, putting his hands in his pockets, and then taking them out again when he realized what an obvious sign of discomfort it was.

“I thought I should ask one of the sober people first,” said Galadriel. “But have you seen my brother? He vanished after I arrived and I wanted to talk to him.”

Curufin frowned and looked around, realizing that indeed, he hadn’t heard Finrod’s laugh in a while now, and he was nowhere to be seen. Had he left already?

_Without saying goodbye?_

Disgusted at the disappointment rising in him, Curufin settled for shrugging and saying, disinterestedly, “No. I haven’t seen him.”

He turned away from her then, and headed into the back of the apartment, away from the heat of too many bodies and the babble of too many voices, and Galadriel’s eyes, that saw too much of him…

He’d already sought refuge in the bathroom once that night, but knew he couldn’t hide out there long before someone would be hammering on the door. Maybe he could slip into Fingon and Maedhros’ room and wait out the next hour in relative quiet. He had some articles he could read on his phone, anyway.

He slipped down the hallway and tried one of the two closed doors – the first had been where Fingon and Maedhros had been putting people’s coats, so the other must be their bedroom. He opened the door and had to blink a couple times to register what he was seeing.

A slim blond figure was pressing someone tall and dark-haired against the wall. As Curufin stared, he registered the familiar tee-shirt the dark-haired figure was wearing.

It was Caranthir.

And, in his arms, kissing him fiercely, one thigh pressed between his legs, was Finrod. Finrod, who was letting out little sighs and moans as Caranthir gripped the curve of his ass, hauling Finrod up against him. As Curufin stared, numb, he saw Finrod drag a hand from Caranthir’s hair to fumble between them, and whisper roughly, “Pull down your pants.’”

“Are you crazy?” Caranthir whispered back. “There are people in the next room. What are you going to – ” He broke off with a groan as Finrod sank to his knees before him, tugging his fly open. “ _Fuck_ , Ingoldo.”

Finrod gave a murmur and leaned forward, one hand coming to rest somewhere between Caranthir’s legs, the other pushing against Caranthir’s waist. Caranthir’s head fell back against the wall, his eyes closed.

Curufin felt sick; some horrible mixture of revulsion and arousal churning within him. Watching Finrod so debauched, performing such acts both disgusted him and made something shiver low in his belly.

_How much more vivid was this than his fantasies…_

This was overpowered, though, by the devastating drop of his stomach, the coldness that flooded him, the bitter disappointment that rose in his throat and choked him.

_So having a girlfriend was not so much of an impediment for him after all._

_It’s just not you he wants._

His hand was still on the doorknob, he realized. He should step back, pulling the door shut behind him, closing it on the tableau of Finrod crouched before his brother, Caranthir’s hand tangling in Finrod’s hair, Finrod’s hand pressed to the bare expanse of Caranthir’s stomach as he shoved his shirt up.

He should…

 _…_ leave _._

He moved, finally, hand twitching spasmodically on the doorknob, and Caranthir’s eyes opened. They met Curufin’s for one horrible second of realization, and then Curufin stepped back swiftly and shut the door. He let his eyes close for a black, furious moment, and then he wheeled and stalked back to the living room, back to the oblivious crowd.

He’d had nothing to drink, but his head was whirling and the room was unsteady and out of focus. He hadn’t had a drop of alcohol, but he felt certain that if he didn’t get outside, right now, he’d throw up.

“Curvo?” said Maedhros, raising his head as Curufin flashed past. “Are you okay?”

But Curufin didn’t stop, not until he was outside, leaning against the railing of the front steps, panting as if he’d run a mile. Every time he closed his eyes, the same images played before him.

Anguish surged, and he pressed it back, latching onto something darker, something more powerful.

Anger.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Someone please send me more named First Age dwarves; yes I will turn them all into women.


	25. Don't wanna live in fear and loathing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We exist in a perpetual state of mornings after here at 1495 Mithrim Lake Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Warnings for the usual: fooling around, hangovers, Curufin being vicious.

The phone was ringing. Why was the phone ringing?

Caranthir groaned and pulled the pillow over his head, but the annoying buzz went on. “Noo,” he moaned. “Shut up.”

At last it stopped, and Caranthir let out a sigh of relief, burrowing beneath the blankets. There was someone warm – more importantly, someone naked – beside him, and he was just about to reach out and pull that warm body against him when –

The phone rang again.

Swearing, and trying not to open his eyes more than a crack, he leaned over the sleeping form beside him and fumbled on the bedside table for the cellphone. He dragged it back, one hand shielding his eyes from the offensive sunlight, and answered it.

“H’lo?”

“Findaráto?”

“What?”

“Is that – Who is this?”

“Who is _this_?” Caranthir was confused, and half wondered if he was having some baffling, hangover-induced dream.

“It’s Amarië. Where’s Findaráto?”

The name cut through the nauseous cloud shrouding Caranthir’s consciousness and his eyes snapped open.

“Hello?” Amarië said again.

Caranthir hit the ‘end’ button and dropped the phone like it had burned suddenly red hot. He watched it land on the sheets next to him, and then, for good measure, he pushed it off the side of the bed.

Beside him, Finrod stirred.

“Oh, god,” he groaned. “I haven’t woken feeling this terrible since I was an undergrad. Why are we awake?”

“The phone rang,” said Caranthir, still staring at where it lay innocently on the floor. “I answered it.”

“Good job,” murmured Finrod. “That’s what one does with phones, you know.” He snuggled against Caranthir’s side, tucking his face into the crook of Caranthir’s neck. “What – ”

“It was your phone. I answered your phone by accident.”

“Oh?”

“And it was Amarië.”

“Oh.” Finrod pulled back. “Hum.”

“What is she going to think? What are you going to say to her?”

Finrod rolled onto his back and rubbed at his eyes as he thought. Finally, he said, “I’ll tell her the truth.”

“ _What_?”

“That I spent the night at your place after getting too drunk to go back to my own; that my phone rang while I was still asleep, and you answered it. That _is_ what happened.”

“If you leave out the whole…naked in bed together thing.”

“I don’t see why that needs to be part of it.”

“Um. Okay.” Caranthir pushed himself up on his elbows, wincing as the room swam before his eyes. “But look, you should get out of here anyway.”

“Should I?” Finrod raised his eyebrows, and Caranthir felt annoyed that Finrod could manage such an eloquent gesture while morbidly hung-over. He also managed to look incredibly tempting, even with rumpled hair and shadows under his eyes, the sheets slipping down over his bare chest…

Caranthir blinked rapidly and said, “Yes. Makalaurë set you up on the couch last night. He’s going to wonder where you’ve gone.”

Finrod stretched and sighed. “I can just say I got up to go to the bathroom and was so drunk that when I came back I ended up passing out in your bed instead,” he said. “It’s not even a lie. We can just leave out the part where, after finding my way into your room, I stripped off all my clothes and you took me from behind while I clung to the headboard.”

“Argh,” said Caranthir, and dropped back on the pillows. “Why do you always have to say things like that?”

“Like what?” asked Finrod, all innocence.

“ _You know_.” Caranthir rolled over and grabbed Finrod impatiently. “You know exactly what it does to me,” he said, and kissed Finrod, hard.

“Yes, true,” murmured Finrod, dragging his fingers against Caranthir’s scalp. “I really appreciate your consistency, though.”

“Shut up,” said Caranthir, and Finrod laughed as he widened his legs and urged Caranthir between them.

 

-

 

Celegorm sloped through the front door and into the kitchen, a Beleriand U. Rugby hat pulled low over his eyes.

“Is there coffee?” he mumbled, falling into a chair.

“Where were you?” asked Maedhros with interest, looking up from the counter, where he was cutting bagels.

“I had Káno drop me at Oromë’s last night,” said Celegorm, slouching low in his chair and groaning a little. “And to rights I should be spending the day in his bed, but he’s got team shit all day and then he’s on the road all week…”

“Oh, was that his car on the street?” asked Maglor, pulling out a package of lox. “I wondered why it was idling there for so long.”

“Well, I had to say goodbye, didn’t I?” said Celegorm, grinning a little even as he massaged his temples. “Anyway, we have a long history of making out in cars.”

“It truly amazes me you never got caught,” said Maedhros, dropping a bagel onto a plate and handing it to Celegorm.

“Me too,” said Celegorm. “We had a _lot_ of public sex.” He bit into the bagel, and then frowned. “Wait.”

“Here it comes,” said Maglor.

“Took him long enough,” said Maedhros.

“ _Nelyo_?”

“Good morning to you too, little brother.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Last night reminded me how much I miss weekend mornings with you all,” said Maedhros, smiling.

“I have no idea why,” said Maglor, eating lox ruminatively. “Weekend mornings just mean Tyelko’s hung-over, Moryo sleeps until late afternoon, and Curvo makes biting remarks about moderation.”

“I came for you then,” said Maedhros, reaching out to tweak Maglor’s ear. “And I brought coffee and bagels, because I love you.”

“I love you too, Nelyo,” said Celegorm, his mouth full. “But I hate your friends. Your buddy Azaghâl and that hot cousin of his nearly destroyed me. Why are the doors to the living room closed?”

“Oh, right,” said Maglor. “Findaráto’s asleep in there. I offered him Maitimo’s bed, but he said it would be safer for him not to attempt the stairs and he’d use the couch instead. He was pretty tipsy, so I didn’t press the point.”

“Stairs,” said Celegorm, through a mouthful of bagel. “Solid. He’s a clever one, that Findaráto.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” said Celegorm, and took a long slurp of coffee. “So, no sign of life from Moryo either?”

“Well, I heard some noises earlier,” said Maglor, “but he doesn’t seem to have emerged yet.”

“I bet not,” said Celegorm, and sniggered to himself.

“What is _up_ with you?” demanded Maglor. “You’re acting strange.”

“I’m probably still drunk,” said Celegorm, finishing his bagel. “Don’t mind me.”

 

-

 

Voices from downstairs floated up to Curufin’s room, along with the smells of food and hot coffee. Curufin’s stomach gave a growl, but Curufin scowled and pulled his knees against his chest to stifle it, pressing himself back into the corner where his bed met the wall. He knew a good part of his foul mood was from lack of sleep, but the rest of it –

It had been a bad night.

He’d still been outside, gripping the railing of the stairs fiercely and trying to calm himself down, when Maglor had emerged from the apartment, their brothers in tow. His relief that they could finally leave had been immediately extinguished when he heard Maglor call over his shoulder, “Do you need a ride, Findaráto?”

Of course Celegorm, loud and drunk and barely coherent, had called shotgun. It had been hell sitting in the backseat, trying to hold himself as far from Caranthir as possible. It had been worse still, even though he’d glued his eyes to the window, refusing to look, to know that Finrod was drowsing off against Caranthir’s side, his head on his shoulder. The innocence of the gesture, in such contrast to what Curufin had seen earlier, somehow stung just as sharply.

And then Finrod had come into the house with them, stumbling a little and laughing as he grabbed Caranthir’s arm for support. Celegorm having insisted on being dropped off at Oromë’s house, Maglor and Curufin headed upstairs alone, while Finrod curled up on the couch under a blanket. Not much long after, Curufin had heard Finrod’s footsteps crossing the living room to Caranthir’s door…and the sounds that had followed had kept him awake as much as the roaring disappointment in his ears.

He’d always had sensitive hearing, and he’d never hated it more than now. He had caught every sound from below, could make out the moans, and Finrod’s low voice begging for _more, harder, deeper_ – and his body, his treacherous body, now the enemy, had responded. When had it become such a traitor to him? He’d fisted his hands in the sheets, refusing to yield to the temptation to touch himself, clenching his teeth until his jaw ached, staring at the ceiling until his eyes burned, hating the ache in his groin, hating everything that was happening a floor beneath him.

And in the long, dark, sleepless hours, he had carefully nursed his bitter disappointment and frustration into an acid, churning fury.

_Just what did Caranthir think he was doing?_

Lying, sneaking around, rutting like an animal in near public places…

_Why would someone like Finrod want someone like him?_

It had been one thing to think of Finrod as unattainable, as taken; boundaries he could respect and understand. But apparently those boundaries didn’t mean as much as he thought to Finrod, and that meant that he was attainable, after all…

…for Curufin’s brother.

Confused and angry, he lay awake until dawn. Even when he heard the front door open, and Maedhros’ greeting, and Maglor’s delighted exclamation, he had refused to go downstairs.

_I don’t want to see him. I don’t think I could stand it._

And he wasn’t sure if he meant Finrod or Caranthir.

 

-

 

Finrod examined himself in the mirror on the back of Caranthir’s door and sighed. “So much for subtlety,” he said, running his fingers over the marks on his throat.

“Sorry,” said Caranthir, pulling on a pair of jeans. “I got, um, carried away.”

“Well, usually you wouldn’t find me complaining,” murmured Finrod, turning away from the mirror and grabbing his shirt from the floor. “But in this case it leaves rather a telling clue. Hm. I suppose today would be a good day for a scarf.”

“You own a scarf?” Caranthir came up behind Finrod before he could pull his shirt on and slid his hands over Finrod’s bare waist a final time. “How preppy can you get?”

Finrod rolled his eyes, but leaned back against Caranthir’s chest as he pulled his shirt right-side out. “They do serve a purpose in cooler weather, I’ve found.”

“Whatever.” Caranthir pressed his face briefly into Finrod’s hair before releasing him. There was something intoxicating about how Finrod smelled…If he wasn’t careful, he’d get himself going again. “You probably shouldn’t stay for breakfast, unless you have a scarf on you now.”

“Such a gentleman,” said Finrod lightly, pulling his shirt over his head at last. “How lucky I am to have found someone who will bed me and then toss me unceremoniously out the door…”

“No,” said Caranthir, reaching out and catching Finrod’s wrist. “It’s not like that. I just meant – My  brothers are so fucking nosy. And they notice everything. They’d definitely see, and they’d be the worst – ”

“I understand, Carnistir,” said Finrod, smiling at him. “I was joking.” He stretched up and kissed Caranthir lightly on the lips. “I appreciate that you’re trying to be discreet.”

“Yes,” said Caranthir, wishing for a second he could invent an excuse for Finrod to take off his shirt again, “That’s it.”

-

Finrod opened the double doors to the living room and slipped out, followed a short while later by Caranthir. He poked his head briefly into the kitchen.

“Oh! Maitimo, I didn’t expect to see you here. Wonderful party last night, thank you. Congratulations to you two, again. And Makalaurë, thank you so much for giving me a ride and letting me crash on your couch – I really appreciate it.”

“Of course,” said Maglor. “Do you want some breakfast, or some coffee?”

“Wish I could,” said Finrod, smiling apologetically and withdrawing to the entryway before they could examine him too closely. “But I have so much work to do, you wouldn’t believe it. You’ll have to forgive me for not lingering.” He pulled on his shoes and opened the door, waving a last farewell.

 

-

 

Curufin took a deep breath and forced himself to open the door. _Go downstairs, get breakfast, act normally._

He was at the top of the stairs when he saw Finrod, standing by the front door. The door was partially open, a sliver of late morning sun slanting onto the doormat and turning Finrod’s hair to blazing gold. He was in the middle of talking to someone just out of sight.

“ – oh no, that’s all right, I’d prefer to walk. Clear my head, you know.” He waved once, and turned to go. Before he did, he glanced back, up the stairs, and saw Curufin. He paused a moment, his bright blue eyes locking onto Curufin’s, and Curufin felt a sudden, dizzying swoop, like the floor had dropped out from under him. Then Finrod smiled briefly – a brilliant, beautiful smile – and left, closing the door behind him. The slant of golden light vanished; the entryway was dark once again.

_Damn everything._

 

Curufin exhaled, slowly, and started down the stairs. He was intending to whisk into the kitchen as swiftly as possible, hopefully being just rude enough that Maedhros wouldn’t talk too much to him but not so obviously in a bad mood that anyone would ask questions, and then…

Caranthir was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. Curufin raised his eyebrows and made to step around his brother, but Caranthir jerked his head toward the back hall.

“You’re going to have to use your words, Morifinwë,” said Curufin impatiently. “I don’t respond to crude gesturing.”

“I need to talk to you,” said Caranthir, in a low voice. “About...the party. Will you just – I don’t want to be overheard.”

“Fine,” said Curufin, the bitter taste rising in his mouth again, and he followed Caranthir into the hall.

Once out of sight of the kitchen, Caranthir turned and said, without preamble, “So. Uh. You saw us last night.”

“ ‘Saw us’,” mused Curufin, eyes glittering. “You’re going to have to be a little more specific, Moryo.”

“You know what I mean,” said Caranthir, so quietly that his lips barely moved, his eyes darting down the hallway to the kitchen. “In…in the back room…”

Curufin tilted his head back. “Ah yes. I do think I remember that incident. If by ‘saw us’, you mean I happened upon you getting pleasured by our cousin in our brother’s bedroom, while a crowd of people milled about just feet from the unlocked door…?”

Caranthir flushed and glanced self-consciously over his shoulder. “Yes,” he said. “That. Are you going to tell anyone?”

“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?” Curufin laughed humorlessly. “No apology for having me witness something like that? No flicker of _shame_ , Moryo? No excuse for why you were so _driven_ by carnal instinct you couldn’t wait to defile Findaráto until you had more privacy? No explanation for why you’re so blasé about fucking someone who’s in a relationship?”

Caranthir’s flush darkened, and he looked a little angry now. “Yeah, well, I’m sorry you walked in on us,” he said, clearly trying to keep his temper. “But I don’t see why I owe you anything else.”

“What about what you owe Amarië?” Curufin cocked an eyebrow. “She and Findaráto have been together quite a long time, I believe. In fact, if I understand correctly, they’d been discussing moving in together. What, did you not know that? Oh, but silly me: I imagine this an arrangement of theirs. An open relationship. Freely discussed and well communicated, is it not?  I should congratulate her on the progressiveness of her relationship next time I see her – oh. Oh dear. I take it by the look on your face that that isn’t the case.”

“Curvo,” snarled Caranthir. “What the fuck are you trying to – ”

“I’m just trying to understand how it all works,” said Curufin, smiling a razor smile. “Does Findaráto switch between the two of you? If Amarië had turned up at the party last night, would I have walked in on the two of them, instead, while you languished on the couch, unattended? Though I suppose that’s the usual scenario for you…”

“Shut _up_ , Curvo,” said Caranthir, his fists balling at his sides.

“…I imagine Findaráto finds you a rather easy mark,” Curufin went on, ruthlessly. “So desperate for attention, so ravenous for affection – He probably won you over easily. Have I expressed my sympathies to you about Haleth yet?”

Caranthir let out a growl and lunged at his younger brother, just as Celegorm turned down the hallway.

“Hey!” Celegorm darted forward and caught Caranthir around the waist, dragging him away from Curufin, who was laughing openly. “What the hell is this?”

“Oh, nothing,” said Curufin softly. “Just speculating about how desperate someone would have to be to engage in certain acts. Just wondering how pathetic someone would have to be, how little control they must have over their baser needs, to enter into an arrangement where they are _clearly_ being used. And with no heed for who might get hurt in the process…”

“You little shit,” spat Caranthir. “Why the fuck are you like this? What’s wrong with you? Just stay out of my goddamned business, you – ”

“Okay, that’s enough.” Celegorm hauled Caranthir back and pushed him against the wall, hands heavy on his shoulders. “God, I am too hung-over for this. Go walk it off, Moryo. Get some fresh air. Punch a tree or something. You gotta chill out.”

“Tell him that,” said Caranthir, jerking his head toward Curufin, who’d folded his arms and was smirking at him. “Tell _him_ to – ”

“I will,” said Celegorm patiently, “but first you need to clear your damn head, kid. Go on.”

He let go of Caranthir and Caranthir wheeled and stomped down the hall to the front door, slamming it behind him.

“Ooo-kay,” said Celegorm, turning at last to Curufin. “Want to tell me what that was all about?”

“You know Moryo,” said Curufin, coolly. “He blows things out of proportion. That temper of his – ”

“Cut the bullshit,” said Celegorm. “I recognize the symptoms. You were needling him. You were also possibly nosing into his personal life. Don’t fuck with me, Curvo, I was in exactly that position a couple months ago, I _know_ how you can be. What happened?”

“Nothing,” said Curufin, and as Celegorm raised his eyebrows, he rolled his eyes and said, “Except that I walked in on him and Findaráto last night.”

“ _Oh_ ,” said Celegorm, and gave a deep sigh. Then he couldn’t hold back a grin. “How fucking crazy is that, though? I caught them last week and I’ve been dying to tell someone. Christ, who saw that coming? Isn’t it – Huh.” He broke off, studying Curufin’s face. “You don’t think it’s as funny as I do.”

“What’s funny about it?”

Celegorm shrugged. “It’s kind of entertaining. Moryo and _Findaráto_? I mean, come on, I’d see Findaráto sleeping with…well, anyone before Moryo.”

“And the fact that he’s cheating on his girlfriend to do so?” Curufin demanded. “You find that funny, do you?”

“Well, no.” Celegorm frowned. “That’s pretty dickish behavior, sure. And I feel bad for Amarië. But I don’t actually know her very well, and mostly I’m kinda happy Moryo’s getting laid. It’s got to have been a while for him...”

“Oh, so that matters so much more than basic morality?” said Curufin angrily. “Him getting his _cock sucked_ is of such vital importance that the circumstances don’t matter? God, I don’t understand you people _at all_. How can anything be that important? How can you so let yourself be ruled by  - ”

“Hey, slow down,” said Celegorm, laying a hand on Curufin’s shoulder. Curufin yanked himself free, furious. “I’m not saying anyone should value getting their rocks off over basic decency. I think Findaráto’s acting badly. But that’s on _him_ , and in the meantime, I’m not gonna be unhappy over Moryo getting a bit of action. I don’t think he’s at any risk of getting his feelings hurt – I mean, apart from by you – and I think it’ll help distract him from, y’know, getting his heart broken.”

“Swell,” snarled Curufin. “It’s all fine then. Just because _he’s_ not the one with the girlfriend he can do whatever the fuck he wants. Sure. Whatever.”

Celegorm squinted at him. “Curvo…why are you so worked up about this?”

“I’m _not worked up!_ ” hissed Curufin. “Leave it _be_ , Tyelko!”

“I’m just trying to understand,” said Celegorm. “Look, Curvo, wind it down a little, okay? Last time you were like this you brought my relationship down on my head, so I’m a little nervous. Hang on, is that it? Is this like me and Oromë all over again? Are you worried Findaráto’s going to hurt Moryo? Because that’s touching, but I don’t think – ”

“Yes, that’s it,” said Curufin flatly, turning away. “I just have his best interests at heart.” He pushed past his brother and back up the stairs.

“Curvo,” Celegorm called briefly, but let him go. He leaned against the wall, thinking, as he heard Curufin’s door click shut, and the bolt of the lock slide home.

“That’s not it,” Celegorm muttered to himself. “What the fuck.” He pulled his hat off to rake his fingers through his hair as a thought occurred to him. He grimaced and shook his head. “No, can’t be. That would be a fucking disaster...”


	26. How to be a heartbreaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a drama-free zone, son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Dear Other Half: Thanks for the encouragement. You know who you are.

It was an unseasonably warm day, for October. By the time Finrod had walked the mile or so to his own block, he’d pushed his sleeves up to his elbows and was wishing he had sunglasses – the brilliant sun was doing nothing to improve his headache. He ran rueful fingers over his throat as the sun beat down on his shoulders. “A scarf might be a little conspicuous on a day like this,” he murmured to himself, and sighed.

He turned onto the sidewalk in front of his apartment building, and drew up short, his fingers once again flying self-consciously to his throat.

A tall girl, her blonde hair caught back in a ponytail, was sitting in the vestibule of the building, her long legs propped against the opposite wall as she leaned back, absorbed in a book.

“Amarië?”

She looked up and a smile broke over her face. She jumped to her feet, stowing her book in her bag. “Ingo! I tried to tell you my team meeting got out early, but…you weren’t answering your phone, so I thought I’d swing by and see if you were around. And then I went upstairs and Artanis said you weren’t home yet.”

Finrod still hung back a little, uneasy. “Oh, yes…”

Amarië smiled at him. “Quite the night, was it?” Her smile slipped a little, and she looked inquisitive as she asked, “…but where _were_ you? Artanis said you never came home last night. Did you spend the night at Maitimo and Findekáno’s?”

“No,” said Finrod, and cleared his throat. “Makalaurë gave me a ride home and I crashed at their place.” He managed an apologetic smile. “Forgive me for being hung-over and not my most coherent. I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

Amarië shrugged, drawing close. “Not too long.” She reached out and took his hand. “I feel like we haven’t gotten time alone together in ages. I know you probably have work, but – ”

“I do,” said Finrod quickly. “I’m so sorry, Amarië, but there’s a pile of work knee-deep in my office, and I really can’t justify putting it off any longer. I was planning on heading to campus just as soon as I changed. Maybe we could get dinner later in the week?”

“Sure,” said Amarië, though she was clearly trying not to look disappointed. “I miss seeing you, though.” She reached up to put her arms around his neck then, pulling him into a kiss. “I wish I could have seen you last night.”

“Me too,” said Finrod, but the hand he laid on her waist was distracted, and he pulled free of her quickly. “I really need to – ”

But Amarië held onto his arm. “Findaráto.”

“Yes?”

She was staring at him, and her eyes had dropped to his neck. “…What’s that?”

He raised a hand to his throat and tried to retreat further. “It’s – I’m not sure what –”

“Findaráto,” said Amarië, slowly. She reached up and pulled his hand away. “Is that a _hickey_?”

“No,” said Finrod, too quickly, and then closed his eyes in resignation. “…Yes.”

“Are you kidding me?” Amarië dropped his wrist and backed away.

“Amarië…”

“ _No_.” She looked at him, furious and despairing. “Not _again._ ”

 

-

 

Aegnor shuffled through a stack of newspapers, quickly become more and more short-tempered. “Artanis!”

“What?” Galadriel looked up from the counter, where she was buried in a large textbook.

“Did you throw away yesterday’s crossword?”

“No,” said Galadriel returning to her book.

“Then where is it?”

“I finished it.”

“Goddamnit, Artanis, it was my turn!”

“Whoops,” said Galadriel, unconcernedly, turning a page.

“This is the third time this week,” said Aegnor, slamming down the stack of newspapers. “You steal it Monday, Ingoldo steals it Wednesday, you steal it again _yesterday_ – what’s the point of having a crossword schedule if no one _follows_ it?” He broke off as voices came up from the street. He peered out the window, frowning, and his eyes widened. “Shit. Artanis – come here.”

“Unless it’s Will Shortz, in the flesh, I’m not interested.”

“It’s not. It’s Ingoldo, and Amarië. I think something’s going down.”

Galadriel immediately put her book down and slid off the stool. She and Aegnor stood shoulder to shoulder and craned their necks to look down at the sidewalk below. Aegnor carefully slid the window open enough so that they could hear.

“ – I told you, I _told_ you, Findaráto, that I couldn’t do this again! It was literally my only condition!”

“I know, Amarië, and I’m sorry…”

“Tell me this was a one time thing. Tell me it was one drunken mistake, and you’re not –”

“I can’t.”

Aegnor, who had been leaning forward on the windowsill, slipped, banging his head against the glass. “Shit!”

Down on the sidewalk, Amarië and Finrod broke off and looked up. Galadriel and Aegnor immediately dropped to the floor. Galadriel reached up carefully above their heads and slid the window shut. She and Aegnor sat quietly, backs to the wall, legs stretched out in front of them. Aegnor let out a low whistle and twiddled his thumbs. Galadriel sat silent, an arrested look on her face.

“I knew something was coming,” she muttered finally. “I should have known it would be one of you.”

“Hey,” said Aegnor, but Galadriel wasn’t listening. She was staring into space, her eyes foreboding.

“I should have known he’d mess it up again.”

 

-

 

Celegorm knocked on Caranthir’s door, and hearing no response, went ahead and opened it, slipping in.

Caranthir was at his desk, poring over a binder full of densely scrawled notes. He looked up with a scowl as Celegorm entered. “Do you mind?”

“Not really.” Celegorm flung himself down on the bed, crossing his arms behind his head. “Findaráto’s already left, so I know I’m not going to walk in on any horrific scene that will scar me for life.”

“No,” said Caranthir, “but you _will_ annoy the shit out of me. Go away.”

“Nah. Look, I want to talk about what happened earlier.” Celegorm paused, looking vaguely horrified at himself. “Jesus. That was the most Maitimo moment I’ve ever had. Let’s move past it, though. You wanna tell me about what happened with you and Curvo?”

“I’m sure he told you.” Caranthir threw down his pen and turned in his chair to face his brother.

“He told me he walked in on you guys last night.”

“Yeah.” Caranthir’s scowl deepened. “And let me tell you, of the things you want to see when you’re getting head, our scary little brother is, like, bottom of the list.”

Celegorm shuddered. “Yeah, no argument there. When the fuck did he see you?”

Caranthir shrugged uncomfortably, and Celegorm whistled.

“You hooked up at _the party_? You _dog_.”

Caranthir fiddled with the pen on his desk, turning red as he refused to meet Celegorm’s eyes. “It wasn’t my idea.”

“It wasn’t, huh? Man, Findaráto has hidden depths, there’s so much I want to know…No. Another time. Seriously, that was a stupid-ass move. Are you trying to get caught? Where were you?”

“Nelyo’s room,” muttered Caranthir.

“Oh, Moryo, you poor dumb jackass,” said Celegorm, shaking his head. “With the door unlocked? Okay, two things are going on here. One, you won’t last a month with this ‘secret affair’ bullshit, and two, Findaráto’s clearly got a ‘getting caught’ kink.”

“We were drunk, I don’t think – ”

“Please, Findaráto’s smart, even when he’s drunk. He couldn’t have locked the door? I can smell exhibitionist from a mile away. And look what happened: Curvo, possibly the most terrifying person in the world to know your secrets – and I can vouch for this – walked in on you. You poor fucker.”

“I don’t get why he’s being such an asshole,” burst out Caranthir. “I mean, what the fuck is his problem?”

“Curvo’s always had a strong moral streak,” said Celegorm, not mentioning his own suspicions. “He really took to heart all that stuff dad used to go on about.”

“Swell,” said Caranthir. “That’s great. Of all the things for him to get a righteous stick up his ass over…He doesn’t even _know_ her.”

“Who, Amarië?”

Caranthir flinched a little at the name. “Yeah.”

“Well, it’s not about the people involved,” lied Celegorm, “it’s about him having some sort of standard he holds us all to.”

“He’s gonna be really fucking disappointed then,” said Caranthir, scratching a deep line in the margin of his notes, digging the tip of the pen in until the paper tore. “D’you know, I think this is the first time in his life he’s even shown any _interest_ in anything I was doing.”

“He probably doesn’t want you to get hurt, either,” began Celegorm, but Caranthir shook his head.

“He doesn’t give a shit,” he said flatly. “He’s never given a shit about me. He doesn’t give a shit about any of us, except maybe you. And I dunno why you’re pretending to give a shit either. Everyone in this family has someone who’s got their back: you’re not mine, and I’m not yours. I’m not anyone’s. That’s how it’s always been.” He turned back to his notes, dark brows knotted. “Now go away, Tyelko. I’ve got studying to do.”

Celegorm opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. Rolling to his feet, he paused briefly on his way out of the room to lay a hand on Caranthir’s shoulder.

“You’re wrong,” he said quietly. “I do have your back. And I’m here if you need me, okay?” He squeezed Caranthir’s shoulder, and left.

Caranthir stared down at his notes, but didn’t take in any of them. He felt the lingering warmth of Celegorm’s hand on his shoulder, and then heard, echoing in his memory, the words Curufin had spat at him.

_“I imagine Findaráto finds you a rather easy mark…So desperate for attention, so ravenous for affection…”_

He dug his pen into the page again, tearing a deep gouge into the paper.

_That’s how it’s always been._

 

-

 

“Hum.” Aredhel rested her chin on Elenwë’s shoulder, studying the laptop resting on Elenwë’s knees. “Well, I’m perfectly qualified for that one.”

“Right?” Elenwë sounded delighted. “I think you’d be really good at it.”

“Except…”

“Yes?”

“Elenwë, you know I don’t speak Mandarin, right?”

Elenwë paused, and reread the job posting, a frown crinkling her brow. “Oh. Huh.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re a quick learner, right?”

“ _Elenwë_.” Aredhel sighed. They were curled up on the couch together, Elenwë propped against Aredhel as they browsed job sites together. “Honestly, a lot of these don’t interest me. I’d like to do something more like my summer job.”

“The thing about being a camp counselor,” said Elenwë, scrolling down the page and scanning for other options, “is that it’s a fairly _seasonal_ thing.”

“Tyelko and I had an idea, actually.”

“Uh oh.”

“We both did Outward Bound as teenagers…”

“That’s when you got giardia, right?”

“Right.”

“And Tyelko got…what STD was it?”

“An embarrassing one, with a name like some sort of deformed Pokémon. And it was only because he had a different girl in his tent each night.”

“Were you one of them?”

“I was on a different course, for the record, and I _always_ use protection. Also I thought he was gross back then. I mean, he’s still gross. But I got over certain humps…”

“So to speak.”

“Right. But focus. We both did Outward Bound – it’s probably what kept Tyelko from being a total delinquent – and it was really excellent. And there are instructor courses you can take, that train you to be a course leader. And we were thinking about taking one next summer. They train you in emergency wildness medicine, and a bunch of technical areas as well, like paddling and rock climbing and dog sledding…”

Elenwë raised an eyebrow as she snuggled back against Aredhel. “Dog sledding?”

“Well, it depends. But wouldn’t that be awesome? Doing some kind of outdoor ed as a career?”

“Is it a career, though?” asked Elenwë dubiously. “If it’s just in the summer…”

“They do courses all year round,” said Aredhel enthusiastically. “Dog sledding, remember? They even do international trips! I could travel all over, potentially.”

“So…you’d be gone quite a lot.”

“Well, I’d just do summers to start. And I haven’t taken the instructor’s course yet. But I thought I’d mention it, since Tyelko and I might try it.”

“Okay,” said Elenwë, returning to her computer search. “But in the meantime, how about taking your mom’s suggestion and working reception at her practice? It’ll help cover your bills while you keep looking, at least.”

Aredhel sighed. “If I must.”

Elenwë snuggled back in her arms, closing the computer. “We’ve done an hour of career research now.”

“So we have.”

“That means it’s reward time! How would you like – ”

“Oh,” said a voice from the doorway, “I’m sorry.”

Elenwë and Aredhel jumped and looked up.

A tall blonde girl was standing in the entryway, clutching a bag over her shoulder and looking uncertain.

“Amarië!” Elenwë pushed herself upright. “What are you doing here?”

“The door was unlocked,” said Amarië softly. “So I thought I’d just come in –I hope that was okay…”

“Of course it is,” said Elenwë warmly. “Do you want something to eat? Drink? We made tea, earlier.”

But Amarië still hovered in the entryway, fingers knotting on the strap of her bag. “I….”

Elenwë studied her, taking in her pale face and tight lips, and her own face grew grave with concern. “What’s up, Amarië?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to go to the studio, actually,” said Amarië, her voice a little high pitched but full of forced calm.

Elenwë looked helplessly at Aredhel, then back at Amarië. “I actually had a three hour class this morning and I’m already sore…”

“I could just really use some studio time,” said Amarië, her voice getting even thinner.

Elenwë blinked and then nodded immediately. “Yes, I think I do too. Let me grab my things.”

Aredhel drew her brows together as Elenwë jumped off the couch and darted into her room. “Isn’t it a bit late? Won’t the studio be locked up?”

“Nessa gave me a key,” said Amarië, pulling her ponytail out from under the strap of her bag. Her fingers were trembling slightly, Aredhel noticed. “She doesn’t mind if we use the studio after hours, as long as we lock up behind us.”

“I’m ready!” Elenwë dashed back out, wearing tights and a long sweater, her dance shoes knotted over her shoulder. She pulled her curls into a messy knot on top of her head and shuffled her feet into boots for the walk over. “Are you going to be all right here alone for a couple hours, Ireth?”

“Sure,” said Aredhel, hanging her arms over the back of the couch. “I’ll eat all your chocolate though.”

“That’s acceptable,” said Elenwë, swooping over to kiss her swiftly.

“How long do you think you’ll be?”

Elenwë gave Amarië a questioning look. “An hour, or – ?”

“A bit more.” Amarië swallowed. “Maybe a couple hours.”

“No problem,” said Aredhel.

“No problem,” echoed Elenwë, and laid her hand lightly on Amarië’s lower back as they stepped out into the rapidly darkening evening.

 

-

 

By ten o’clock, Aredhel had eaten enough chocolate to feel slightly ill, and was growing restless. After pacing the perimeter of Elenwë’s apartment a couple times, she muttered, “Ah, to hell with it,” and grabbed her bag and bike helmet.

The bike ride was dark and cold, and Aredhel swiftly regretted not wearing gloves as she gripped her handlebars with numb fingers. When she finally pulled up outside Nessa’s studio and locked her bike to the railing, the golden light blazing from within looked profoundly appealing.

The studio was bright and warm after the cold night, and Aredhel slipped in gratefully, rubbing her frozen hands together. Elenwë and Amarië were sitting on the floor in the middle of the studio, legs extended out along the ground like they were stretching, but they appeared to be more absorbed in intense conversation than loosening up. Amarië’s eyes were red-rimmed, and she was twisting something pink and fluffy in her hands like a handkerchief – but on closer examination, it looked to be one of Elenwë’s legwarmers.

“Sorry,” said Aredhel, slipping out of her shoes and sliding across the floor on socked feet to join them. “I got lonely.”

“That’s okay,” said Elenwë, patting the floor beside her. “I’m sorry we’ve been so long.”

“My fault,” said Amarië, with a pained smile.

“It’s no problem,” said Aredhel, settling herself cross-legged on the floor. “But can I ask what’s up?”

Elenwë shot a look at Amarië, who shrugged. “Amarië broke up with Findaráto,” Elenwë said.

“Oh, shit.” Aredhel winced. “What happened?”

Again, Elenwë looked at Amarië for permission to answer, and Amarië nodded, twisting the pink wool in her fingers. “He cheated on her.”

“That fucker,” said Aredhel, then looked embarrassed. “I mean. I guess we can’t really talk, can we, El…?”

“Elenwë had one ill-advised evening being a little too physically close with you,” said Amarië in a low voice. “Then she ended things with Turno before the two of you did anything further. She didn’t have a weeks long affair – including unprotected sex, I might add – that she lied about and concealed. More than once.”

“Jesus.” Aredhel was horrified. “I had no idea. What a _dog_.” She cast about helplessly for something she could offer. “Sounds like you could use a drink.”

“I don’t drink,” said Amarië, and blew her nose. She paused, looking chagrined. “Um. I’m sorry, Elenwë. That was your legwarmer…”

“Keep it,” said Elenwë brightly.

“You don’t drink?” said Aredhel, distracted. “Hang on, I’ve seen you play beer pong. I’ve been _beaten_ by you in beer pong!”

“Well, if you win consistently you don’t _have_ to drink,” pointed out Amarië, with a watery smile.

“And Findaráto used to drink for both of them when they got scored on,” put in Elenwë, and then caught herself. Her ears turned pink and she cast a worried look at Amarië.

“He’s not Voldemort, Elenwë,” said Amarië. “You’re allowed to say his name to me. I won’t…explode, or burst into tears…well, maybe a little.” She wiped her eyes again, looking frustrated. “Oh, this is so stupid. I don’t want to be crying, it’s so _embarrassing_. I hate crying in front of people.”

“We don’t count, don’t worry.” Elenwë scooted closer and wrapped an arm around Amarië’s shoulders. “If you’re not allowed to cry when you go through a break-up, when are you? And it’s only been twelve hours! When I broke up with my high school boyfriend I cried for three days straight until I gave myself esophageal spasms.”

Amarië looked at her in alarm. “I think you just gave me another reason not to cry.”

“Finding out your boyfriend is cheating scum?” Aredhel said. “Totally grounds for some crying. Or some revenge plotting. My brothers and I drove to New Hampshire this past summer for fireworks, and we’ve got a TON left over. We could totally…”

“Blow him up?” Elenwë rolled her eyes. “Irissë.”

“Hey, this is how I deal with breakups. And I was going to say stick them up his - ”

“I think I’ll pass,” said Amarië, blowing her nose again. “I’d rather just never think about it again. Though I don’t know if I can pull that off.”

“Maybe,” Elenwë began, and then all three of them jumped as the studio door banged.

Galadriel poked her head in, a fuzzy hat pulled over her long golden hair, her peacoat buttoned to her throat and her cheeks pink from the cold. She would have looked like an Alpine milkmaid if it hadn’t been for the truly ferocious glint in her eyes.

“Amarië!” Galadriel hurried over. “I was hoping I’d find you here.”

Amarië looked up, puzzled. “How did you know to look here at all?”

“Educated guess,” said Galadriel, and sat down opposite her, legs crossed. She adopted a businesslike expression and dove in at once. “Look, I know I shouldn’t have eavesdropped, but I heard some of your conversation with my brother this morning.”

“Oh.” Amarië looked down at her lap.

“And then, when Findaráto came upstairs without you…and wouldn’t answer any of my questions…” Galadriel spread her hands. “I suspected the worse. Can you tell me what happened?”

Amarië sighed, and Elenwë laid a hand on her leg.

“You don’t have to,” Elenwë began, but Amarië shook her head.

“It’s fine, Elenwë.” She looked up at Galadriel. “I ended things with Findaráto, Artanis.”

Galadriel’s expression was carefully neutral. “What happened?”

“You should ask – ”

“Amarië,” said Galadriel. “Don’t worry about offending me, or that I’ll automatically take my brother’s side. I already suspect I should be furious with him. _What did he do?_ ”

“He cheated on me,” said Amarië, baldly. She smiled, self-deprecatingly, but her eyes once more filled with tears.

Galadriel drew in a long breath through her nose. “Excuse me a second.” She pulled her purse out and rummaged for her phone.

“What are you doing?”

“Texting Aikanáro,” said Galadriel shortly, typing.

“Texting him what?”

“Texting him to lock Findaráto out of the damn apartment.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. When _I ___broke up with my high school boyfriend I cried for three days straight until I gave myself esophageal spasms. True story.  
>  2\. Shout out to snartha, who has done some DWMP-inspired fanart that is frankly appalling in its perfection. [Check it](http://snartha.tumblr.com/post/100873983261/dwmp-modern-au-doodles-under-the-cut).


	27. Looking down the barrel of today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. An early update, my god! Try not to get used to it.  
> 1\. Warnings for cheating and its fallout, scary dads, sad modern elves, hook-ups, the usual.

The knock came just as Fingon was in the middle of sweeping the kitchen floor and singing along loudly to what Maedhros called his “Embarrassingly Terrible Music Mix: Please Turn That Shit Down”. Wiping his brow on his forearm, Fingon leaned the broom against the wall and traipsed over to the door. He glanced briefly through the peephole, and his shoulders tensed. There was no mistaking that sleek dark hair, or the impeccably tailored suit, or those snapping grey eyes.

Fëanor was standing on his front stoop.

Fingon took a moment to compose himself, then glanced down at what he was wearing: a sleeveless jersey for his intramural ultimate team that had _Flight of the Noldor: Sausagefest 2011_ blazoned across the chest _;_ and a pair of Maedhros’ flannel pajama pants that were several inches too long in the leg.

“Well, this is promising,” he muttered to himself, and opened the door.

“Maitimo’s not here,” he said, before his uncle could speak. “His shift at the bar doesn’t end for another hour or so.”

“I am aware of that,” said Fëanor. “I am not looking for him, but for you.”

“Oh.” Fingon digested this. “ _Excellent._ ”

“Yes, quite.” Fëanor raised an eyebrow, taking in Fingon’s bare arms and too-long pants. Fingon could see him read _Sausagefest_ , with a twist of his lips. “I must compliment you on your attire. This is how the heir to my father’s company dresses?”

Fingon stared back at him, unfazed. “Yeah, this is definitely basic office dress for me. You should see me on casual Fridays.”

Fëanor gazed around the small apartment, his lip curling at the party detritus still scattered over various surfaces. Fingon followed his gaze and answered his unstated observation.

“Yeah, not very prepossessing, is it? But it was a busy weekend, so we’re only getting around to cleaning now.” He gestured to himself, and the adjacent broom. “Something I am, in fact, doing as we speak. Is that why you stopped by? To make comments about my outfit and cleaning habits?” He stared Fëanor down. “Because if so, done and done. Anything else I can help you with?”

Fëanor looked like he wanted to make another biting remark, but caught himself. “I shouldn’t have said that,” he said. “I’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.”

“Unusual.”

“I had another intent, in coming here.”

“What’s that?”

Fëanor motioned to the door. “May I come in?”

“I’m not stopping you.” Fingon retreated into the kitchen, while Fëanor made his way to the long counter dividing living room and kitchen. They faced each other over it, Fingon braced for a fight, his arms crossed.

“I am here because I don’t want to lose my eldest son from my life,” said Fëanor abruptly. “There is nothing more important to me than my children, and I have no desire to alienate them.”

Fingon bit back a snarky remark at this, and instead said, “Maitimo doesn’t want that either.”

“I know.” Fëanor stared at Fingon for a while, and then said, “I know you think my dislike for you came from pettiness, and my… _issues_ with your father. That my disapproval stemmed from my distaste for how things were being managed, and your role in the takeover. I imagine you thought it was both politically and personally motivated. Not to mention my discomfort with your…familial connection. The fact that you’re cousins…” He trailed off.

“By marriage,” Fingon pointed out. “And yeah, that about sums up the reasons as far as I could tell. Is that not the case?”

“It’s only part of it.” Fëanor met his gaze gravely. “I will ask you to give me the benefit of believing that I can be motivated by more than my own ‘small-mindedness’, as I think you’ve referred to it in the past. So here it is: As a parent, it is hard to ever believe that anyone is worthy of your children. It’s hard to accept that any individual could be deserving of their love, that anyone is good enough for them. I am also, by necessity, very protective of my family. This makes me, shall we say, a harsh judge of my children’s romantic interests.”

“No shit,” said Fingon, unable to stop himself, and Fëanor inclined his head slightly.

“That’s fair. What’s more, I feared Nelyo was being used, or manipulated, and worse – by someone unworthy of him.”

Fingon’s arms tightened over his chest but he held back his sharp retort.

“However, I have come to see that you are not, in fact, a negative influence in Nelyo’s life.”

Fingon narrowed his eyes, surprised despite himself. “No?”

“No. You have supported him, unwaveringly. You are loyal and devoted, and, most importantly, perhaps, you make him happier than I’ve ever seen him.” Fingon blinked, startled, and Fëanor took a deep breath. “It seems, also, that you are a hard-working and honest young man. And I have concluded that, while perhaps there is no one I will ever entirely accept as good enough for my son, you are as close as I am likely to get.”

Fingon opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Fëanor waited, a slightly ironic smile on his lips. “What, no response?”

Fingon let out his breath. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” He paused. “It may well be the nicest thing _anyone’s_ ever said to me. Thank you, Uncle.”

Fëanor winced. “For the sake of my blood pressure, let us avoid such monikers – Call me Fëanaro.”

Fingon smiled. “Fëanaro, then.”

“Findekáno.”

Grey eyes met blue, and they both reached out at the same to time to clasp hands. Fëanor gave a rare smile, and then leaned forward. Still gripping Fingon’s hand, he murmured, “Hurt him, and I will end you.”

Fingon winced as Fëanor’s hand tightened around his. “Understood.”

“Good.” Fëanor released him and looked around the apartment. “Now. Suppose you show me around? You’ve done interesting things with the space.” He put his hands on his hips and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “You get good light in here, but it would be even better if you moved that hideous shelf.”

 

-

 

It had been a long shift. Maedhros dragged a hand through his hair, trying to shake the weariness from his shoulders. He _had_ to find somewhere better to work, and soon. He was simply not cut out for tending bar. The regulars depressed him and there was something about him that seemed to welcome drunks pouring their life stories out to him. For two hours, today, he’d been subjected to one middle-aged man’s discourse on all the women who had “fucked me out of every last penny I have, y’know what I mean, man? _Bitches_.” In vain had he tried to discourage him with noncommittal grunts, and deep absorption in cleaning shot glasses, but the man had been undeterred and rambled on, straight through the end of Maedhros’ shift. “You get me, man!” the costumer had called after him when Maedhros had finally excused himself with deep relief. “You and I are cut from the same cloth, brother!”

“What a horrifying idea,” muttered Maedhros. It was with a sense of earning a sweet reprieve, then, that he turned onto Hithlum Ave and started down the block towards the apartment building he was starting to think of as home.

And more importantly, Fingon.

His footsteps already feeling lighter, Maedhros picked up his pace, and was just rounding the corner when he froze. A well-dressed man was descending the steps to their building, flicking his dark hair out of his eyes. He turned purposefully down the street, pulling out his keys and clicking them to unlock the sleek black car parked across from their apartment. Maedhros shrank back into an alleyway, watching as his father got into the car and pulled away from the curb.

_What was he doing here?_

As soon as Fëanor’s car was out of sight, Maedhros dashed across the street and up the steps to their apartment. Heart thundering in his chest, he yanked the door open, not quite knowing what to expect. Whatever he’d imagined, though, it wasn’t Fingon dancing up to him, broom in one hand, and sweeping him into his arms.

“Hey, babe!”

Maedhros grabbed Fingon’s shoulders and pushed him back. “What did he do?”

“Hm?”

“My father. I saw him leaving. He was _here,_ what did he do? Did he say anything – did he do anything – are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Fingon caught Maedhros around the waist and swung him around, humming.

“ _Fin_. What _happened_?”

“Well,” said Fingon, releasing Maedhros and leaning on his broom. “First he insulted my clothes. But the pants are yours, so joke’s on him, there.”

Maedhros just stared at him, agonized.

“Then he made snide remarks about how dirty the place was, but I pointed out that I was _actively_ involved in cleaning it, so he could hardly hold that against us. And then–”

“Then?”

“He apologized.”

Maedhros boggled. “He what?”

“I mean, maybe ‘apologize’ is too strong a word.” Fingon looked pensive. “But we had a talk, and he admitted that I was probably good enough for you, after all. And that he wanted you in his life, no matter what, and if your life includes me, then…well. He’s gonna take me as part of the package deal. And you could do a lot worse, because as it turns out, I’m an upstanding and attractive young man.” Fingon grinned. “I’m paraphrasing, of course.”

Maedhros was still frozen, amazed, and Fingon laughed at him. “You need to sit? Should I fetch you a soothing drink?”

“I…Yes.” Maedhros collapsed into a chair, a little lightheaded.

“He told me to call him by his first name.”

“He did?” Maedhros put a hand to his head, and Fingon perched on his lap.

“Well, that part was mostly because he couldn’t handle me calling him ‘uncle’. And I admit I only pulled that one out to see if he’d explode. I was pretty impressed at how well he held it together.” Fingon looked thoughtful. “Your mom must have done a good job on him. Oh, and he wants grandkids before you’re thirty.”

“ _What_?”

“Kidding.” Fingon smoothed the hair away from Maedhros’ brow and kissed him. “You’re too easy. But the apology part, and him wanting us both in his life: totally true. Can you believe it. Maitimo, are you crying?”

“No.” Maedhros wiped at his eyes. “He really said all that?”

Fingon's fingers were very gentle as they brushed over Maedhros’ cheeks, but his voice was still light and humorous. “He really said all that. And it only took him seven years! At this rate he’ll be speaking civilly to my father before I turn thirty. Eh, thirty five.”

Maedhros gave a watery laugh. Fingon wrapped an arm around his head and ruffled up his hair, pressing another kiss to his temple.

“We’re making progress, Mae.”

Maedhros buried his face against Fingon’s chest. “I love you.”

Fingon hummed and nuzzled against the top of Maedhros’ head. “I love you, too.”

 

\---

 

Turgon dashed down the street, going as fast as he could with his heavy backpack thumping between his shoulder blades. One textbook in particular was catching him with a sharp corner right at the small of his back, and he grimaced as he tried to haul the straps more snugly over his shoulders. He wondered which textbook was the culprit.

“Epidemiology,” he guessed breathlessly to himself. “It _would_ be.”

He came to a halt at the bus shelter, breathing heavily. Wiping the back of his hand over his forehead to brush back his sweaty curls, he bent over slightly to catch his breath. Hopefully the bus hadn’t already come and gone.

He straightened up, and the other occupant of the bus shelter caught his eye.

“Amarië?”

She’d been leaning against the sign that marked the bus routes, staring into space, and clearly hadn’t been paying attention to anything around her. She jumped at the sound of her name, and looked around, confused. Her gaze landed on Turgon, and he smiled at her. Amarië didn’t smile back, and there was something wary in her face as she said, “Oh. Hi, Turukáno.”

He gestured ruefully to his sweaty face and heavy bag. “I was just hoping I hadn’t missed my bus. Do you know if the 72’s come by yet?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

He let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, phew. I really, really can’t afford to be late to this class again. I’m behind as it is; I _never_ should have gone to that party last weekend…”

Amarië’s face tightened further. “Oh, you were there, were you?”

Turgon shook his head self-deprecatingly. “I shouldn’t have been, but yes. I went with Findaráto.” He frowned, trying to remember. “I thought you were going to be there, actually.”

“I should have been,” said Amarië, a touch of bitterness in her voice, before she shook herself. “Not that it would have made a difference. I had a morning commitment.”

Turgon watched her, a little confused. Something about Amarië seemed a little off. As she looked away, pulling her bag against her side and wrapping her arms over her _B.U. Ladyhawks Basketball_ sweatshirt, he realized it was the exhaustion in her face, and a certain tone to her voice.

“Hey, Amarië, is everything okay?” He asked it a little uncertainly, not sure if he was overstepping.

“What do you think?” she shot back sharply.

He stepped back, startled at the venom in her voice. “I…I don’t know. Really. Should I know? Oh no, if I missed something Findaráto told me that I should be remembering, I’m so sorry. I’ve been totally overwhelmed and out of it…I know he mentioned that you two hadn’t gotten much time together lately, but…is there a family issue or something?”

Amarië stared at him a while, and then shook her head.

Turgon groped, helplessly. “School stuff, then? Or…basketball? No, that season hasn’t started yet, has it? Is it – ”

“Oh, Turno.” Amarië’s voice was gentler now. “Okay, I’m going to take pity on you because clearly you’re out of the loop, not being intentionally thoughtless.”

“What?”

“Findaráto and I broke up.” And then, as Turgon gaped at her, she shook her head. “No, you know what? I want to make this clear: I broke up with _him_.”

“ _What_?” Turgon struggled, at a loss for words. “But – When did this – I had no idea…”

Amarië looked at him with some sympathy. “He didn’t tell you, huh?”

“ _No._ ”

“Well, that seems in character.” The bitterness was back in Amarië’s voice, and Turgon reached out to touch her shoulder before catching himself and pulling his hand back.

“What happened?”

“You should ask your friend. In fact, I’ll be really interested to see what he has to say about it.”

“Amarië,” Turgon was still trying to keep up. “Did he – ”

“That’s your bus, Turukáno,” said Amarië softly, as the bus pulled up with a hiss and the doors opened. “Better go if you don’t want to be late for class.”

Turgon fumbled in his pocket for his wallet and stepped up. But before the doors closed, he turned back.

“Listen, Amarië – ”

“Just ask him,” said Amarië, and turned away as the bus doors slid shut.

 

-

 

Galadriel was pacing the circumference of the living room, muttering to herself as she practiced for her French recitation, and she didn’t even break stride when Turgon burst through the front door.

“Listen, Artanis, I need to talk to Findaráto.”

“Mieux vaut faire, et se repentir, que se repentir, et rien faire.”

Turgon drew up short. He was out of breath again, having jogged straight to their apartment as soon as his class had gotten out. “What?”

“It’s Saint-Gelais. And I’m sure I couldn’t tell you where my brother is.”

“He’s in his room,” said Aegnor, coming down the hall. “Honestly Artanis, are you still – ”

“Yes.”

Aegnor sighed and pointed. “He’s back there, Turno.”

 

-

 

Finrod looked up from his desk as his door flew open. “Turukáno. I wasn’t expecting you.”

Turgon cut straight to the chase. “What did you do?”

Finrod’s eyes clouded. “Ah. Who told you?”

“ _Amarië_.” Turgon clenched his fists. “But she didn’t tell me much, only that I should ask you why she dumped you. What did you do?”

Finrod sighed and pressed his fingers to his temples. “Look, Turno, you’re going to want a good little period of being angry with me, which is understandable and totally deserved, but can it please wait? I have forty midterms to grade, and it would be really helpful if you could be upset with me later.”

“No,” growled Turgon. “You’re going to tell me right now.”

“Fine.” Finrod turned in his chair and met his eyes squarely. “But you’re not going to like me very much when I’m finished.”

 

-

 

Turgon was still standing, trying to absorb everything Finrod had told him. Finrod stepped away to sit on the windowsill, waiting patiently for Turgon to speak.

“How could you?” said Turgon at last. “Ingo, you _know_ how much it hurts to be cheated on.”

“Not really,” said Finrod, leaning his head against the window. “I’ve never been cheated on.”

“No, but _I_ have, and you were with me throughout that!” Turgon dragged his fingers through his hair, upset. “Do you know how little respect I have for people who cheat?”

“Very little, it would seem.”

“Why are you being so cool about this?” shouted Turgon. “You _asshole_ – Amarië loved you! I thought you loved her! Why did you do this?”

“I’m sorry,” said Finrod, raising his head, “I am cool only because it is easier for me to give you measured responses if I react bloodlessly. Trust that this isn’t _easy_ for me, Turno.”

“Easy for you? Who cares if it’s easy for _you_? You cheated, and lied – and don’t think I’ve forgotten that this isn’t the first time – How could you throw away something like this? Do you know what I’d _give_ to still have what you and Amarië had? You _dick_.”

"I know."

"What the hell is wrong with you? How could you do something like this? Why -"

Finrod turned on him then. “About fifty percent of your anger I will believe is moral outrage,” he said, with tight composure, “and well deserved. But the rest, Turukáno, is because you are upset that I didn’t tell you first.”

Turgon’s jaw worked silently, and then he spoke. “I’m your best friend, Ingo,” he said, and there was hurt in his voice. “And I was totally in the dark. I didn’t even know you were having an affair. Why didn’t you _tell_ me any of this?”

Finrod smiled wearily. “Because I can’t stand to see the look in your eyes when I disappoint you,” he said. “And forgive me – I wanted to put off that moment for as long as I could.”

“I don’t – ”

“You’ve always thought I was a better person than I actually am,” said Finrod. “Always. And it’s…honestly, it’s the highest compliment I’ve ever received, the regard in which you hold me. But I’ve always been afraid to let you know the truth.” He smiled, and his eyes were over-bright. “I’m not the person you think I am.”

Turgon shook his head, caught off guard, torn between his anger and his instinctive loyalty. “You’re…you’re not a _bad_ person…I just…I always thought…”

“I am petty, and weak, and selfish,” said Finrod softly. “I yield too easily to my desires. I am thoughtless, and I did what I did knowing full well that it would cause hurt. And I did it anyway.”

“So. That's it then? I don’t know you?” said Turgon, his voice tight. “You’re telling me that even though we’ve been best friends since we were ten years old, and I tell you _everything_ – I don’t know you. Know how this could have been remedied, Findaráto? You could have _talked_ to me. Of course I wouldn’t have been impressed with what you were doing, but I’m still your _friend_. I could have helped you! I _want_ to know what’s going on with you, and why. You can trust me! But instead – ”

“But instead I lied to you and deceived you, just like I did with Amarië. Yes.”

“You’re right,” said Turgon, turning away and putting his hand on the doorknob. “I don’t know you, Findaráto.”

Finrod stayed on the windowsill long after the door clicked shut behind Turgon, resting his forehead against the cool glass of the window, staring down onto the leaf-strewn street. When he got up at last, he didn’t return to the pile of papers on his desk, but grabbed his jacket in passing before he walked out.

 

\----

 

Curufin was the one to answer the knock at the door, and his face darkened as he regarded Finrod standing on the stoop. “Oh. It’s you.”

Finrod attempted a smile, even though it took all his energy, but Curufin just stared at him, waiting.

“Can I come in?” asked Finrod at last, when it became clear Curufin wasn’t going to offer.

Curufin stood aside wordlessly, and Finrod entered the house. He hung his jacket on the hook by the door and tried another warm smile. It felt brittle, even to him. “How have you been?”

But Curufin just crossed his arms, refusing to engage. “Moryo’s in his room.”

Finrod wasn’t one to blush, but the look that Curufin leveled at him, combined with the blunt tone of his voice, made Finrod’s ears burn slightly in embarrassment.  He felt a sudden urge to explain himself, an urge he hadn’t had in any of his previous confrontations.

“Thank you,” he murmured, instead, and brushed past Curufin into the living room.

 

-

 

Caranthir jumped as he heard his door open, his pen skittering across his notebook.

“Do you _never_ knock? For fuck’s sake, Káno–” He turned in his seat, annoyed, and broke off.

Finrod was leaning against the closed door, looking very tired.

"What are you doing here?”

“Always a good question.” Finrod smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.  “Mostly, I – I needed to get away.”

“Get away from what?”

“Oh, you know, people who love me and care about me and whom I invariably let down.”

Caranthir frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Finrod shrugged and crossed the room, dropping down heavily on the edge of the bed. “My little sister isn’t speaking to me and my best friend thinks I’m a terrible person. And he’s probably right.”

Caranthir felt a twinge of foreboding. He got up and joined Finrod on the edge of the bed. “Why?”

“Amarië broke up with me.”

“Oh. _Oh."_ Realization came crashing down and Caranthir blanched. "Shit. Because of – ”

“Because she found out about us, yes.”

“Ah, fuck.” Caranthir shifted uneasily. “I don’t know what to say to that. I’m sorry? I mean. What am I supposed to say? What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing.”

“Uh, do you…” Caranthir groped for words, running his hand over the back of his neck. Was he supposed to feel bad that Finrod was now single? To his surprise, he did feel a little bad, though it was tinged with a strange burst of anxiety. Surely he should feel relief instead. “D’you want to talk about it?”

“No,” said Finrod, flatly. “I really don’t.”

Caranthir raised his eyes to Finrod’s face. “So what are you – ” He broke off as Finrod moved closer to him, putting a hand on his leg. “Wait, are you serious?”

“Yes.” Finrod’s hand moved higher and he stared intently at Caranthir.

“Ingo, I have homework, and class in like an hour.”

“So you don’t want to?”

“I didn’t say that.” Caranthir twitched as Finrod moved closer, his hand sliding up the inside of Caranthir’s thigh.

“Oh, good.”

Caranthir couldn’t keep himself from reaching out to run a lock of Finrod’s hair through his fingers. His hand dropped to Finrod’s shoulder, fingers pressing against Finrod’s throat. Finrod shuddered, and Caranthir felt that familiar twist of satisfaction.

“Is this how most people deal with breakups?”

“I have no idea,” said Finrod. He hooked his fingers into Caranthir’s belt loops and pulled himself onto Caranthir’s lap. “But we’ve already established I’m not exactly normal, or a good person, so who the fuck cares?”

It was one of the first times Caranthir had ever heard Finrod swear. Part of him felt certain he should be objecting, or feeling guilty, but as usual, when Finrod slid his hands into Caranthir’s hair and pulled him into a long kiss, all rational thought went out the window. So instead, he pushed his hands up under Finrod’s shirt, dragging his nails against Finrod’s skin, and kissed him back.

Maybe neither of them was particularly normal.

 

-

 

Caranthir rolled onto his back, working to catch his breath. Beside him, Finrod stretched out, staring at the ceiling.

Caranthir glanced at him. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“No offense, but you don’t _look_ fine. Are you sure you don’t want to…talk, or something?”

“It’s very kind of you to offer,” said Finrod softly. “But I’m perfectly well. Thank you.”

Caranthir shrugged, and tucked a hand behind his head. “Okay then.”

They lay quietly for a while, not touching except for the light brush of their shoulders, and only when Caranthir’s phone buzzed did he stir. He checked the screen and swore. “Ah, fuck, I’ve got class in like ten minutes.” He rolled himself out of bed and fumbled for his clothes. “I’ve gotta go, but you’re free to stay, if you want. Leave whenever. And Curvo’s home, so don’t worry about locking up or anything when you go.”

“Okay.”

Caranthir dragged on his pants and rummaged in the dresser for a clean shirt. “I guess we don’t have to sneak around as much anymore. Or do you still want to keep this, like, quiet?” He shot a look back at the bed. Finrod was a motionless, slim figure amongst the tangled sheets. Caranthir couldn’t see his face.

“I don’t care.” When Finrod spoke at last, his voice was very quiet. “Whatever you’d like.”

Caranthir felt a pang of annoyance. “What do _you_ want?”

“I don’t care,” Finrod repeated, and rolled over. “It really doesn’t matter.”

Caranthir hesitated at the door for a second as he swung his backpack over his shoulder, but a glance at his watch showed that he was already running late. “All right then. Whatever.”

His last impression of the room was the fading light coming in through the windows, and that golden head, very still on his pillows.

 

-

 

Finrod lay in Caranthir’s bed until the room was almost totally dark, the late autumn evening rolling quickly over the weak light of the afternoon.

Finrod moved at last, sliding his bare legs against the sheets, and pushed himself upright. Dashing an impatient hand over his eyes, he got up and searched for his clothes on the floor; unwilling to turn on the light just yet. He gathered his belongings, and then, as an afterthought, he swiftly made Caranthir’s bed, smoothing the rumpled sheets and blankets and retrieving a condom wrapper from under the pillow.

 _Better late than never_ , he thought, with bitter amusement, dropping the wrapper into the wastebasket.

Emerging from Caranthir’s room, Finrod glanced around. The rest of the house was just as dark; Maglor clearly hadn’t made it home from his shift at the coffee shop yet. The only light was a sliver in the upstairs hall, slanting out from Curufin’s room.

 _At least I don’t have to worry about running into anyone_ , he thought, twisting out his tight shoulders and slipping on his shoes. He went to reach for his jacket, hanging up next to the door, but something made him hesitate. He paused, thinking, looking over his shoulder at the thin sliver of light at the top of the stairs.

Then he let his jacket fall back on the hook, turned, and started up the stairs.

 


	28. Firing these things called TNT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boom

The tap on his door was so light that at first Curufin ignored it. When it came again, he looked up, frowning. “Who is it?”

“It’s me.” Finrod pushed lightly on the half open door and stepped halfway across the lintel.

“Oh.” Curufin dropped his gaze back to his book. “I thought I heard you leave.”

“Carnistir did. I…hung around a little.”

“Evidently.”

Finrod hesitated. “I don’t mean to interrupt you – ”

“But you already have, so spit it out,” said Curufin shortly. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to talk to you.” Finrod stepped around the door and came into the room, stopping a couple feet from Curufin.

“About what?” Curufin kept his eyes on his book, the irritation already building in him. What was Finrod doing here?

“I wanted to apologize.”

Curufin looked up, taken aback.

“Carnistir said you saw us last weekend,” said Finrod softly, and Curufin was surprised to see a faint flush pass over his fair features. “I – I can’t imagine what that must have looked like to you. It was unfathomably poor behavior on my part, and I’m sorry you had to witness it.”

“It wasn’t very edifying, that’s for sure,” said Curufin bluntly, and Finrod nodded.

“I know. I don’t always…think these things through. Please accept my apology for behaving so badly.”

Curufin studied him. “It’s not _me_ you should be apologizing to for your behavior.”

“You mean Amarië.” Finrod met his eyes squarely.

“Obviously.”

“You and she agree on that front.” Finrod shrugged a painful shoulder. “And you’re correct, of course. But I suppose that’s moot now. She left me.”

“Well, it seems there’s no doubt you deserved it,” said Curufin snidely, and Finrod nodded again, his face very sober.

“You are not the only one to think me a terrible person.”

“Stop being passive and self-deprecating,” snapped Curufin. “Are you trying to garner sympathy? You’re so obvious, Findaráto.”

“I don’t want your sympathy,” said Finrod, with a trace of heat. “I’m trying – I was trying to apologize to you.”

“You haven’t wronged me, you idiot. I mean, other than inflicting on my eyeballs the sight of you and my brother…”

“I _am_ sorry about that. As I said. But…there’s something more, isn’t there?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re angry with me.” Finrod shifted his weight from side to side and winced. “Do you mind if I sit?”

“If you must.” Curufin slid over on the bed as Finrod sat rather wearily beside him.

“Curvo, I feel like there’s something I’ve done to anger you. Or something about me that you find particularly objectionable.”

“That’s not true.”

“I always liked talking to you. Our conversations are always stimulating, and honestly, you’re smarter than the majority of PhD candidates I hang out with. I like how you challenge my assumptions, I like how you don’t let me get away with things, how you don’t let me be complacent… I thought we always more or less got along. But recently I’ve felt…like you look at me with distaste. Dislike, even.”

“I don’t dislike you,” said Curufin automatically.

“Then have I done something to offend you?” Finrod stared at him searchingly.

“ _No_.” Curufin felt like pulling himself further away, but that motion in itself would be too revealing.

“Disgust you then?” Finrod wasn’t looking away, and Curufin gritted his teeth, hating those unwavering blue eyes. “Is it…I know my involvement with Carnistir must be objectionable to someone with a strong moral compass. You have every right to judge me for that. Or do you not trust me to treat your brother– ”

Curufin laughed. “Strong moral compass? For god’s sake, Findaráto. I don’t – I hardly care about any of _that_. And if you think I’m protective of _Moryo_ then you really don’t known either of us at all.”

“Then what is it?” demanded Finrod. “I’m not wrong – There’s something you’re angry about.”

“Why do you care? We’re not close, who cares if I don’t snuggle up to you like everyone else? Don’t you have enough admirers to keep you happy? Sweet Ingoldo, lovely Ingoldo, how everyone loves you…Hah, well, maybe not anymore.”

Finrod refused to rise to Curufin’s bait. “Humor me.”

“You’re imagining it.”

“I’m _not_. I’ve ruined so many things, Curvo,” said Finrod in frustration. “I don’t want to ruin my friendship with you without even knowing why.”

“We’re not friends!”

“Why not? I _like_ talking to you, I like being around you, you’re smart and interesting and – ”

“Shut _up_ , Ingoldo!”

“See? You’re angry with me.”

“It’s not because I don’t like you!” Curufin’s voice raised, and he clenched his hands on his lap. “You’re so _frustrating_ – You don’t leave things alone, why are you like that? You’re so annoying, you’re so – so – why do I even – ” He broke off, actually shaking with anger, Finrod watching him steadily.

“What?”

“I don’t dislike you.”

“I think you do.”

“I _don’t_ ,” spat Curufin, “I’m not pissed because you did something wrong.”

“So you _are_ pissed then. What is it?”

Curufin dug his fingers into his hair, beyond frustration. “You are so impossible! I _don’t dislike_ you, you asshole. I _wish_ I disliked you. I can’t stop thinking about you, okay? Every time – I can’t – ” He bit off the rest of his words, humiliated. “It’s frightening,” he mumbled. “How much I think about you. How I react to you. And so I…act like I do. Like I’m angry.”

Finrod was staring at him, shocked.

Curufin felt the shame rise in him, and he turned away. “Just leave. You got your answer, all right? Are you happy? I’m not angry at you, I’m just another pathetic– Like you don’t have enough. You don’t have to say anything, Findaráto, just – ” But he stopped talking as long fingers caught his chin and pulled him back around.

“Curvo,” said Finrod gently.

Curufin shivered, unable to take his eyes off the shape of Finrod’s lips around his name. “You don’t have to – ”

But whatever he was going to say was swallowed as Finrod leaned forward and very softly pressed his lips to Curufin’s.

 

* * *

 

 

Maglor came up the walk, his guitar over one shoulder, talking animatedly to Maedhros, who was listening with an amused look on his face.

“It’s brilliant, Maitimo, I’ve never had an accompanist who’s this intuitive. I hardly have to give him any instruction at all! I wish I could hire him full time – ”

“There’s just the small problem of you not having any money to pay him,” Maedhros put in, eyes twinkling.

“Well, there’s that. And also he’s planning on joining the Marines.” Maglor sighed deeply, opening the door. “What a waste.”

“Yeah,” said Fingon, who was trailing them up the steps, burdened with an enormous bag of groceries. “Silly chap – going for something with no future like being a Marine, when instead he could be an unpaid flautist for your broke ass. Ecthelion really has no concept of choosing for his future.”

“I’m not saying he couldn’t have another job, I’m just – ” Maglor jumped, startled, as a figure clattered down the stairs to the front hall. “What’s that? Oh – Findaráto, I didn’t know you were here.”

“I’m leaving,” said Finrod, who was very pale, grabbing his coat from the hook and fumbling with his shoes. “I’m sorry, I have – a lot to do…”

Fingon dodged out of the way as Finrod sped past.

“Moryo should be back from class soon,” called Maglor, “we’re going to watch the midterm results and – ”

“I can’t,” said Finrod over his shoulder. “Goodbye.” And he flashed down the path and was gone.

“What was _that_?” asked Fingon, frowning. Maedhros and Maglor exchanged glances.

“Well,” said Maglor slowly. “If Moryo wasn’t at school right now, I’d say…”

“Careful, Makalaurë,” said Maedhros warningly. “We don’t know that’s what’s happening. ”

“Oh come on, Maitimo, you heard that nonsense last weekend…”

“Not enough to tell what was going on. You still don’t _know_ who he had in his room that morning – ”

“ _Come on_. Who else would it have been?”

“Literally anyone. You can’t make assumptions, especially when he’s clearly keeping it a secret.”

“You are no fun at all; isn’t it in our interest as his older brothers to know – ”

Fingon’s eyes were flickering between the two of them like he was watching a tennis match. “Look, are either of you going to enlighten me?”

“We shouldn’t speculate,” said Maedhros quellingly, heading into the kitchen.

“No,” said Maglor, but as soon as Maedhros had disappeared, he whispered to Fingon. “I’ll tell you what my suspicions are if you help me set up the snacks in the living room.”

“ _Done_.”

 

_-_

 

When Celegorm came home, tired and dirty from the landscaping job he’d been working all afternoon, the TV was already on in the living room. Caranthir had evidently just gotten home, his backpack dropped carelessly by the door. He’d thrown himself down on the floor next to Fingon, not even having bothered to shed his jacket. They appeared to be arguing vociferously about third party candidates.

“It’s one thing early on in the campaign, when you can bring issues to the table. But when races are this close, it’s basically immoral not to drop out if you’re going to split the vote and get the wrong person elected!”

“So what? That’s the democratic system, and who says who the ‘wrong person’ is?”

“In races like this it _matters_ who’s in power, and letting crazies like that get elected because you’re too arrogant to accept you won’t get more than 13% of the vote…”

“You can’t complain about the two party system and still come down against third party candidates.”

“It’s precisely BECAUSE I know how fucked the two party system is that I _know_ it doesn’t work to run a third candidate - ”

“Oh god,” said Celegorm, coming into the room. “What fuckery is this?”

“Midterms,” said Fingon and Caranthir together.

“A mistake,” said Maglor, resting the side of his face against a beer.

“Oh, right.” Celegorm stared blankly at the TV. “I forgot.”

Caranthir and Fingon immediately looked up at him accusingly. “You forgot it was election day?”

“Oh my god, did you even _vote_?”

“Calm your pants, I did the mail-in thinger last week or whatever.”

“Want to join us?” asked Maedhros. He was absently toying with Fingon’s hair as Fingon leaned back against his legs.

“Eh, maybe.” Celegorm didn’t look particularly interested.

“We’re turning it into a drinking game eventually.”

“Now you’ve got my attention. Hey, where’s Curvo?”

“Upstairs, I think.”

Celegorm headed up to his room. “K, I’m gonna shower and make a call and then I’ll come back. Did I see onion dip? Excellent, I don’t have to bother with dinner.”

 

-

 

After Celegorm got off the phone with Oromë, he headed back into the hallway, and was about to start downstairs when he paused, seeing that Curufin’s door was ajar. He paused, tilting his head to peer in at his younger brother. Curufin was sitting on his bed, unmoving.

Celegorm stuck his hands into his pockets and ambled casually into Curufin’s room. “Hey, what’s up? I don’t think I ever see you just sitting, you’re always doing something ridiculous with books or wires or – ”

Curufin raised his head, and at the look on his face Celegorm immediately crossed the room.

He sat down next to Curufin. “Hey, you okay? Did something happen?”

Curufin didn’t say anything.

“Curvo?”

“Findaráto was here.”

“Okay.”

“We talked.”

“Sure...”

“He kissed me.”

“ _What_?” Celegorm’s entire demeanor changed. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.” Curufin stared down at the bedspread, picking at a loose thread.

Celegorm’s mouth moved silently, trying to process this. “He – ”

“Kissed me,” said Curufin, still not looking at his brother, and swallowed hard.

“I’ll kill him,” said Celegorm promptly, and rose to his feet. “I will fucking _kill_ him.”

“What? No!” Curufin looked up and grabbed Celegorm’s wrist, dragging him back down. “Tyelko, calm down.”

“Are you kidding me?” Celegorm looked outraged. “He has the nerve to put the moves on you when he’s _actively fucking_ your brother? Not to mention the fact that he’s got a damn girlfriend!”

“Not anymore,” said Curufin, indistinctly, pulling his knees to his chest and resting his chin on them. His fingers were still wrapped around Celegorm’s wrist, and Celegorm automatically turned his hand so he could clasp Curufin’s arm in turn. “Amarië found out about…him and Moryo. She left him.”

“I should fucking think so,” said Celegorm, violently. “I’d have done the same if I found out – But he’s still sleeping with Moryo, right? What the fuck is he doing kissing you?”

“I told him,” said Curufin, and buried his face in his knees. “I told him…how I felt.”

“Oh.” _I was right, then._ Celegorm made to slide his hand up Curufin’s arm to clasp his shoulder, but remembering how Curufin hated most touch, released him.

“No, it’s okay,” said Curufin, into his knees, and Celegorm scooted closer and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“So. How _do_ you feel about him?”

“I don’t know,” whispered Curufin. “He’s so…infuriating, and he never gets riled up or defensive, and he’s so _annoying_ – I wish he would just be _mean_ for once, or smug when he’s right, but instead he’s so…easy-going, and it must be a façade, it has to be, but I want…even with all that, I want to be around him. And when I see him I feel  - why do I feel like that, Tyelko? It doesn’t make any sense! I never wanted it. I was _fine_ not caring. And then…when I told him… he didn’t say anything, he just leaned forward and kissed me.”

“Scum,” muttered Celegorm, but he squeezed Curufin’s shoulders reassuringly. “And? What’d you think?”

“I don’t know,” said Curufin again. “I…liked it. I think. I wanted it, sort of. Why did he do it, though? Why would he – Doesn’t he – ”

“What did he do afterward?”

“He looked…surprised. And then he said he was sorry. And he left.”

“That _fucker_ ,” Celegorm snarled, unable to restrain himself. “I am going to _kill him_.”

“Stop it,” said Curufin sharply. “You always get so ridiculous, Tyelko, knock it off.”

“But look,” said Celegorm, angrily. “What the hell does he think he’s doing? And look what he did to you.” He lifted Curufin’s chin and Curufin pulled away sharply. “Are you crying, Curvo?”

“No,” snapped Curufin. He wiped impatiently at his cheeks and twitched out from under Celegorm's arm. "I shouldn't have said anything; I should have known you'd be absurd about it all."

“No, hang on Curvo, I won’t freak out, I promise.” Celegorm raised his hands. “I’ll chill out. Just let me…get up to speed, okay?”

“Get up to speed _faster_.”

“Okay.” Celegorm let out a breath and dragged his hands through his hair. “So, you once told me that you didn’t, like, _get_ those kind of feelings for people. Right?”

“Eloquently put,” said Curufin, regaining some of his characteristic sharpness. “‘Those kind of feelings’, for god’s sake, Tyelko.”

“Okay, okay, I’m trying. But…you don’t want to fuck people. You’re not into sex and shit.”

Curufin groaned and put his head into his hands. “You have absolutely no nuance.”

Celegorm waved his hands. “Help me out here!”

“ _Fine_. Yes, you are correct, _historically_ I have not had sexual interest in others, or any desire to.”

“Is that changed, now?”

“I don’t _know_ , Tyelko, this is new!”

“So you like him, yeah?”

“I…suppose.”

“And you _want_ him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you get turned on by him?”

“What is this, twenty questions?”

“I’m – whatchacallit, gathering data.”

“And you have to ask _these_ kind of questions?”

“I think they're relevant! Also, you know me, I ask everyone these kind of questions. _Do_ you get turned on by him?”

Curufin didn’t blush, but he also didn’t meet Celegorm’s eyes. “I’ve…felt some arousal.”

“Huh. Okay. That’s cool. Do you want to fuck him?”

“ _No,_ ” said Curufin vehemently, and now color did rise in his cheeks. “I mean. I don’t think…It’s complicated.”

“You’re telling me,” said Celegorm, who was watching him helplessly. “Fuck, Curvo, I’m sorry. I’m totally without a map here.”

“You and me both,” muttered Curufin. He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. He was already pulling himself back together, straightening his shoulders and blinking his eyes until they cleared. “Look, just forget I said anything.”

“Fat chance.”

Curufin leveled a glance at him, his mask of calm and control falling into place with startling rapidity. “Tyelko, if you care about me at all, you’ll pretend this never happened.”

“Yeah, right.” Celegorm folded his arms. “It’s because I care about you, dumbass, that I’m not gonna do that.”

“ _Turkafinwë_.”

Celegorm twitched. “Doing your dad voice isn’t going to work on me. Look, I’m not gonna just let Findaráto get away with this.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Okay, well what about your brother, huh? What about the fact that Findaráto’s fooling around on Moryo now?”

“You think Moryo cares?”

“I – don’t actually know. But I don’t think he’d _like_ the idea any more than I do. C’mon, what about family loyalty first?”

Curufin shrugged. “ _I_ didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I guess.” Celegorm looked uncertain.

“You _owe_ me.”

“I owe Moryo, too!”

“You owe me more.”

“How do you figure?”

“You always owe me more.” Curufin stared him down.

Celegorm groaned in frustration. “You are so fucking annoying. _Fine._ I won’t say anything. Can I please punch Findaráto, though?”

“No _._ ”

“Are you going to – What are you planning next?”

“I’m going to build a Jacob’s Ladder, I think,” said Curufin, turning away.

“That shit’s banned in the house, dad said.”

“No, he banned Tesla Coils. This will be a harmless spark gap.”

“Define harmless.”

“Well, it won’t be that big. No taller than you. It might burn you a bit if you did something idiotic like stick your hand in it, but it’s low voltage. It wouldn’t stop your heart.”

“You have the most terrifying ways of changing the subject, Jesus. You sure you don’t want to come watch the returns with the other nerds?”

“No,” said Curufin shortly. He went to his desk and began pulling out his tools.

“Is it because Moryo’s there?” asked Celegorm shrewdly.

“It’s because I know how it’s all going to go. Learn _statistics_ , Tyelko.”

“No, thanks. I’m gonna go get drunk with Findekáno. He’s doing a shot every time a district switches parties.”

“You’re going to get very drunk.”

“Yeah.” Celegorm stood up, but hesitated, his hand on the doorknob. “….If Findaráto pulls any more shit, I’m going after him.”

“Stop being so dramatic,” murmured Curufin, apparently already absorbed in his work.

“You’re my little brother.”

“Well spotted.”

“He’s not allowed – ”

“Good _bye_ , Tyelko.”

Celegorm watched him a while longer, then left, pulling the door shut behind him.

Curufin focused on unwinding a long spool of wire for a while, staring unblinkingly down at his workspace until his vision blurred and he shook his head impatiently.  He opened his laptop and pulled up a schematic, jotting down notes on his blotter as he went.

“Spark gap,” he muttered to himself, and set to work.

 


	29. Before we start to lose our minds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Some sexiness, make-outs, the usual.

“Irissë!”

Aredhel, who’d been bent low over the reception desk trying to decipher a note her mother had scrawled, and whose eyes were starting to cross, looked up at the sound of her name and did a double-take. “Aunt Nerdanel?”

“Look at you!” Nerdanel was beaming, her cheeks rosy from the cold and her red hair windswept and falling around her face. She brushed it out of her eyes and leaned over the counter to kiss Aredhel’s cheek. “Are you giving your mother a hand then?”

“More like she’s giving me a hand,” said Aredhel, smiling. Nerdanel’s delight was always infectious. “I’m working here three days a week to help cover rent.”

“Well, it’s great seeing you here,” said Nerdanel warmly. “It’s been too long since I’ve clapped eyes on you.”

“Congratulations on your show, by the way,” said Aredhel, pulling up Anairë’s schedule up on the computer to check for Nerdanel’s name. “I know it was ages ago, but Tyelko told me it was a real success.”

“Oh, like he would know.” Nerdanel rolled her eyes fondly. “I believe the only part of the show he would know as a success was the free champagne… But that’s kind of you to say.”

“Heh, yeah.” Aredhel glanced back at the computer and frowned. “I’m sorry, I’m not seeing you on her schedule…”

“That’s because she’s my lunch date,” said Anairë, emerging from the back. She was wearing her lab coat, and her curly dark hair, so like her children’s, was caught back in a tidy knot at the back of her head.

“Lunch date? Since when do you – ”

“We do it every month,” said Nerdanel, as Anairë slipped behind the reception desk to check her schedule quickly and switch out her lab coat for her wool jacket. “Lunch, gossip about our children, and strong coffee.”

“No kidding.”

“Can you hold down the fort for the next hour or so?” Anairë checked her watch and tucked a loose curl of hair behind Aredhel’s ear. “Eärwen won’t be coming in today, but she’s on call if anything comes up.”

“Yeah, no problem,” said Aredhel, watching as Anairë grabbed her purse and met Nerdanel at the door. “Hey, are you going to gossip about me, too?” she called.

“You bet, girl,” said Anairë and Nerdanel waved, winking, “I’ll only believe the good stuff, don’t worry.”

 

-

 

“Pesto and sundried tomato panini, please, with prosciutto. On a ciabatta roll.”

“Same for me.” Anairë handed her menu to the waiter and propped her chin on her hands as she gazed at Nerdanel. “You look appallingly well. Are you aging in reverse? How is this fair?”

Nerdanel laughed, tipping a packet of sugar into her coffee cup. “That’s very sweet of you, but I’m afraid it’s all a sham.” She leaned forward and whispered. “I’ve started coloring the grey hairs. Don’t tell.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Anairë smiled. “It’s about time. I’ve been greying since Findekáno started high school.”

“I can mark each of the wrinkles my boys gave me as they went through their teens. But at least all yours are out of the house! I still have the chickens, and they somehow tire us as much as the rest of them combined. Maybe we are getting old, or maybe they really are the worst fifteen year olds we’ve had. Sometimes I dream of the day when all seven are finally off on their own.”

“Out of the house, yes.” But Anairë sighed, looking a little sad. “It’s so quiet without them. Sometimes Nolofinwë and I find ourselves wandering through the house, wondering if it’s always been that big and empty.”

“I’ve been there. I sometimes go into the boys’ old rooms and have a good cry over Moryo’s old racecar sweater or Curvo’s little lego robots. I do miss having them around, however crazy they drove me.”

“I hear you’ve had some distraction though,” said Anairë, drawing her elbows off the table as the waiter brought over a basket of tortilla chips. “How’s Aulë’s commission coming?”

“Oh, terrible,” said Nerdanel dismissively. “I’m a talentless hack and I’ve already discarded four different molds. I’m think I should just dump the art business, change my name, and go work at the coffee shop with Makalaurë. I don’t know why I ever considered myself an artist, I’m totally without hope. It’s amazing that I managed to fool people for this long.”

Anairë nodded gravely. “For what it’s worth, you’ve always been my favorite talentless hack.”

Nerdanel reached out for a corn chip and popped it into her mouth. “Thanks, sweetie, I can always count on you. But how about you? How’s the practice?”

“Busy.” Anairë pulled her fingers through her hair, looking tired. “Which is good, of course, but I know Eärwen’s been thinking about cutting back on her hours, so that means me taking some of her patient load or trying to hire someone else part-time…an NP or something…”

“You’re not thinking of cutting back yourself? Moving toward re-”

Anairë held up a warning hand. “Not the r-word. I’m not _near_ ready to think about retirement.”

“I bet Nolofinwë might be, though,” said Nerdanel shrewdly, as the waiter set their sandwiches down in front of them. “Working like he has for the past seven years…My husband may pretend to ignore such things, but we both read the papers and can see how the company’s taken off, and how instrumental Nolofinwë’s been in that transition. He must be ready for a break by now, surely.”

Anairë shook her head. “Not in the next five years, at least. We still have to get Arko through school, and I don’t know what the chain of succession would be like at the company if Nolofinwë cut back, or left all together.”

“Findekáno, surely – ”

“He and Nolofinwë might assume so, in the abstract,” said Anairë, and bit into her sandwich, “but I don’t think Finno’s destined for corporate life.”

Nerdanel licked pesto off her fingers, looking interested. “No? Maitimo tells me he’s been putting in quite the long hours…”

“Maybe so, but I have my suspicions of what he’d rather be doing.”

“What’s that?”

“Politics.” Anairë dropped her pickle onto Nerdanel’s plate. “I’d bet my license that he’s going to run for office at some point.”

Nerdanel crunched the pickle, ruminating. “I could see it.”

“I mean, a gay, biracial Jewish kid is no easy sell to the electorate, but – ”

“But who wouldn’t love Findekáno?” Nerdanel smiled, finishing her pickle.

The two women talked on long after their paninis were reduced to crusts on their plates, and the waiter had brought them refills on coffee. They discussed Turgon’s med school grades and his revelation that perhaps epidemiology wasn’t his calling; and the increasingly long-winded emails that Fëanor and Caranthir had been exchanging over the strengths and weaknesses of Libertarianism. “Isn’t it just typical? Of course, you have to let them have their Libertarian phases, I suppose, but Fëanaro says that if he sees another Ayn Rand quote he’ll scream…”

They exclaimed over Aredhel and Elenwë: “ _Goodness_ , I’m so happy for her! When’s the last time Irissë had a long-term relationship? Surely not since – ” “Yes, exactly. And Elenwë’s such a good girl – well, we knew this already, _poor_ Turno, but they seem to have worked it out amongst themselves…” They shook their heads over the twins’ recent conversion to rock-climbing, and Argon’s decision to spend winter break backcountry skiing out west with Angrod. There was a brief argument over who had won the bet regarding Fingon and Maedhros moving in together, followed by Anairë’s disbelief that Curufin was old enough to be a freshman in college – “I swear he was a precocious twelve year old just last month. But of course he’s already winning scholarships and so on, _of course_ he is, that boy of yours always has everything more together than anyone else in the whole family.”

“And how about Tyelkormo?” asked Anairë finally, fumbling for her wallet while Nerdanel swiftly grabbed the waiter first and thrust her card into his hand.

“Oh, well. Not…employed, per se, but moving in that direction.”

“Oh, damn you, Nerdanel, I was going to pay this time. If you don’t let me get the next lunch, I‘ll never give you my pickle again. Is Tyelko seeing anyone? I remember a girlfriend last winter…”

“Oh, that.” Nerdanel shook her head. “I never thought that was as serious as he made it out to be. They were terribly matched, though he pretended he couldn’t see it. But she was a really lovely girl, that Lúthien, even though I only met her briefly. Anyway, I’ve gotten the impression…but I don’t know what I’m basing this on. I feel like there might be someone in his life right now, but he’s keeping it unusually close to the chest.”

“If there is someone, maybe he’s just playing it safe. That sometimes happens, when someone gets serious for the first time. I’m sure he’ll introduce her to you eventually.”

“Maybe.” Nerdanel tugged her jacket on, a preoccupied look on her face. “There’s something about it, though, that I can’t put my finger on…”

 

_-_

 

As Nerdanel and Anairë came out of the deli and turned up the street back towards Anairë’s office, two women passed them going the opposite direction. A cold wind sprang up, gusting down main street, and the two women simultaneously pulled their scarves up to their noses. Nienna tucked her gloved hand into the crook of Vána’s arm, shivering.

“ _Brr_. When did winter happen?”

Vána squinted her eyes against the wind, blinking as her eyes teared up in the cold. “I have no idea. When I left for Belarus it was still late summer, and then I return and you have brought down the winter upon us. Could it not have waited a week or so?”

“You blame me?” Nienna shook her head. “So typical.”

“I only assume that you wield this kind of power, my darling,” said Vána, pausing at a storefront to examine the jewelry on display there. “Nienna, look – that green stone necklace. Beautiful, is it not?”

Nienna studied it. “It’s a bit large.”

“It’s a statement piece.” Vána straightened up. “Like myself.”

Nienna dug her elbow into Vána’s ribs. “Egoist.”

“It is not ego if it’s true, love.” Vána caught her reflection in the window and tweaked her hat straight. “Ai, I’ve been out of town so long. I should get in touch with Oromë; I haven’t seen him in months.”

“We could get dinner,” said Nienna, still studying the necklace in the window, her head tilted to the side. “Perhaps Friday? Oh, no, I have a late client Friday night. But Saturday could work.”

“I shall call him,” said Vána decidedly. “And invite him and his Tyelkormo to join us.”

“Ah. So I will finally meet the famed Tyelkormo…”

“And I will finally get a chance to talk to him when he’s not expecting me to slap him across the face.”

Nienna shook her head. “Your husband is having a midlife crisis.”

“Oh, suddenly he’s _my_ husband, is he?”

“He’s not mine.”

“Details.”

“Yes,” said Nienna. “And your husband has taken a young lover, and I find that…a little funny.”

“You do not mean amusing, I think. The other meaning. Funny odd.”

“You don’t think it’s odd?” Nienna followed as Vána swept around the corner and into the shop, the bell over the door jingling merrily. “Perhaps a little questionable?”

“I would like to see the necklace in the window,” said Vána briskly to the shopkeeper. “The green one, please. And it is unusual, certainly,” she said, turning back to Nienna, “but he has been very well-behaved – and very lonely – for many years now.”

The shopkeeper returned with the necklace and Vána made a delighted noise as he laid it in her palm. “Ah, _perfection_. Feel the weight of it, love.”

“Weighty,” said Nienna, lifting the pendant and holding it against Vána’s collarbones as Vána shed her scarf. “Want me to fasten it for you?”

“Please.”

As Vána tilted her head forward, and Nienna lifted the heavy dark hair from her neck to fasten the necklace around her throat, Vána went on, “Our Oromë deserves some fun, after all those years of being serious and dutiful. He deserves some happiness. And heaven _knows_ he deserves some love.”

“You think that boy loves him, then?” asked Nienna, looking over Vána’s shoulder. Both of them studied Vána’s reflection in the mirror, the green necklace lying heavy between her breasts. Vána smiled, delighted with the image, and Nienna smiled too, dropping a kiss to Vána’s shoulder.

“Yes,” said Vána, turning slightly to examine herself from another angle. “Yes, he is absolutely smitten. And yes, I think this is exactly the one.”

“The necklace or the boy?”

“Both, my darling. Now where did I put my purse?”

 

\----

 

Celegorm flopped back on the bed, panting, his hair sticking to his sweaty brow. “Oh my _god_.”

Oromë leaned over to slip something back into the drawer of the nightstand. “You okay?”

“ _Yes_. Have I mentioned how much I missed you?”

“A couple of times, yes.”

“I’m going to be walking funny for a week. No – shut up, don’t apologize, I’ll kill you.”

Oromë reached down to brush Celegorm’s hair out of his eyes. “I missed you, too.”

Celegorm grabbed him and pulled him down into a kiss. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

“You’re going to have to,” said Oromë, after a long interlude, running his thumbs over Celegorm’s cheekbones. “I have a pile of paperwork that I need to deal with before I go to work tomorrow.”

“That’s not fair. You just got back this evening. You weren’t on _vacation_ , you were traveling for the team, you shouldn’t have to dive right into work!”

“Nevertheless.”

There was a scrabbling at the closed bedroom door, and a mournful whine. Oromë straightened up. “I think Huan is having separation anxiety as well.”

“You don’t know it’s him. It could be Nahar.”

Oromë looked at him pityingly. “Nahar doesn’t scratch at the door.”

Celegorm made a face. “Fine, oh dog whisperer. Let my horribly trained creature in.”

Oromë grinned and got up, crossing naked to the door. Celegorm sighed happily and lay back, watching Oromë appreciatively. Oromë’s braids fell loose, halfway down his back, and his skin glowed with a light sheen of sweat. The tattoo of a great wolf leapt from his shoulder blade across the top of his back, and the branches of the tree on his bicep twined up his neck to just under his ear.

Celegorm let out a low whistle. “I take it back. Damn. I’ll let you out of my sight periodically – but only on the condition that you always walk away from me naked.”

“Could get a little awkward on the commute to work,” said Oromë mildly, and opened the door. Huan burst in excitedly and raced immediately to the bed, rearing up to put his paws on the blankets, seeking Celegorm. Oromë watched, his eyebrows raised.

Celegorm rolled over to ruffle Huan’s ears, and caught sight of Oromë’s face. “You’re waiting to judge me if he jumps up on the bed without permission, aren’t you?”

“No,” said Oromë, unconvincingly. Nahar padded quietly through the door and made his way to the foot of the bed, where he curled up on the floor. “I’m sure you have him very well trained.” He went to the bureau and began pulling out clothes.

“Nooo,” protested Celegorm, shoving Huan back down as the dog made to leap up. “Oromë. Come back to bed.”

“I wasn’t kidding about that paperwork.” Oromë pulled on a pair of pants and Celegorm let out a groan.

“You’re _killing_ me.”

“That’s the least effort it’s ever taken.” Oromë made to slip on a tee-shirt, and Celegorm vaulted out of bed to grab it from his hands.

“C’mon,” he whispered, tossing the shirt to the ground and winding his arms around Oromë’s neck instead. “Give me one more hour, Coach. I’m not even _close_ to finished with you.”

Oromë gazed down at him, his hands smoothing over Celegorm’s hips. “Tyelko, you may be twenty-three, but I’m not. I can’t go again right now.”

“Wanna bet?” Celegorm grinned up at him. “I’m really, really persuasive.”

“Have you ever heard the phrase, ‘The spirit is willing, but the flesh -’ ”

“I don’t see anything wrong with the flesh.” Celegorm’s hands wandered down Oromë’s bare chest. “And isn’t that line about _yielding_ to temptation?”

“The flesh is _tired_ , Tyelko, and has work to do.”

But Celegorm stretched up to kiss him, his tongue slipping between Oromë’s lips, one hand sliding into Oromë’s hair while the other dragged nails down his chest.

Oromë groaned, and Celegorm chuckled into their kiss.  “I think I’m winning the bet.”

“There was no _bet_ …” But Oromë was pulling Celegorm close to him, tightening his arms around his waist, and they swayed together, back towards the bed. “...you devil.”

“Yep. Now just take off – ”

There was a pained yelp and Celegorm jumped, looking horrified. Immediately letting go of Oromë, he crouched down to where Huan was cringing.

“Aw, pup, oh shit, I’m so sorry…” He reached out to cradle Huan’s paw in his hands. “I’m sorry, boy, I’m so sorry, c’mere, I didn’t mean it…”

“That’s a sign,” said Oromë, retrieving his shirt from the floor and pulling it over his head at last. “I’m going to go start some work while you tend to your poor wounded beast.”

“Wounded? You don’t think he’s – ”

“You stepped on his toe.” Oromë rolled his eyes. “I’m fairly sure he’ll live to walk another day.”

Celegorm wrapped his arms around Huan and buried his face in the dog’s shaggy fur. “Can you ever forgive me, pup?”

“Put some clothes on,” said Oromë, heading for the door. “People who see you naked and embracing a dog will get the wrong idea.”

“Sicko,” muttered Celegorm, but he grabbed his pants from under the bed. “Hey, your phone is ringing.”

 

He hunkered down on the floor with Huan, grabbing the dog by the ears and bringing their faces together as Huan let out a delighted huff and licked Celegorm’s nose enthusiastically. Celegorm retrieved a chew toy from the corner and began a ferocious game of tug-of-war with Huan, growling back every time Huan did, and only half listening to Oromë on the phone in the next room.

“I didn’t know you were back in the country! How was the assignment?”

Huan yelped happily through his grip on the chew toy as Celegorm tugged him around the room. Nahar watched them both wearily, only his eyes moving as he rested his head on his paws.

“…Oh. Really? Huh, I’d have to see – I mean, certainly, if we both – I’ll have to check my schedule. And he’ll have to as well, of course… No, I’m not hesitating. What did you have in mind?”

Huan succeeded in pulling the toy from Celegorm’s hand, and barked victoriously. “Shh,” Celegorm murmured, crouching down on his heels and digging his fingers into the thick fur of Huan’s neck until Huan flopped over blissfully.

“Not at your house, then? In publ…I mean, at a restaurant? _Yes_ , I know that’s where people usually get dinner. No, no, it’s fine. Let me get back to you.”

“Intrigue,” whispered Celegorm to Huan, who stared at him pathetically until he resumed his scratching. Celegorm flopped down on the floor next to Huan, resting his head on Nahar’s side. This Nahar endured with tolerant resignation.

Oromë came back into the room, unable to hold back a smile as he saw Celegorm sprawled in a pile with the dogs.

“You three make quite the pack.”

“Nahar’s the alpha,” said Celegorm lazily, pulling at Nahar’s ears. “Me ‘n’ Huan are just the lowly underlings.”

Oromë sat down on the floor beside Celegorm, leaning back against the bureau. He stretched his legs out with a groan, and Celegorm immediately shifted over to rest his head in Oromë’s lap instead of on Nahar. Nahar gave a relieved sigh and closed his eyes.

“Knees bothering you?”

“No more than usual.” Oromë ran a hand through Celegorm’s hair. “See, this is why I’m not upset that you aren’t going pro. Thrice operated on knees, a once-torn rotator cuff and a twice-torn ACL may not be worth the dubious glory…”

“Your glory was pretty glorious,” said Celegorm, reaching up to brush his fingers against Oromë’s jaw. “But yeah, I take your point. Can I do anything for the pain? Bring you any – ”

“I’m fine.” Oromë laid an appreciative hand over Celegorm’s and changed the subject. “That was Vána on the phone.”

“Oh yeah? What’s the wife want?”

“She’s inviting us to dinner with her and Nienna.”

“Seriously?” Celegorm sat up and shook his hair back from his face, tying it back in a messy ponytail. “I thought she was kidding about that. You really want to go on a double date with your wife and her girlfriend?”

Oromë shrugged. “I get dinner with just the two of them not infrequently.”

“Never brought another boyfriend with you?” asked Celegorm, watching him intently.

Oromë shook his head, smiling. “Tyelko, I haven’t had a boyfriend since I was in my twenties.”

“Seriously? Wait.” Celegorm’s eyes widened. “…Then was I the first person you’d had sex with in ten years?”

“No.”

“Oooh. Tell me.”

“There’s not much to tell.”

Celegorm flopped back across Oromë’s lap. “That’s what you say when you’re hiding the juicy stuff. You had casual hook ups then, huh?”

“I suppose that’s what you’d call them.”

“With who?”

Oromë sighed. “I promise it’s not that interesting.”

“Of course it is. Tell me.”

“We’re getting side-tracked here.”

Huan scooted across the floor to lay his head alongside Celegorm’s, and Oromë laughed as Celegorm growled at Huan, who licked him. “Can we focus?”

“Sure, but don’t think I’m forgetting about your sex life.”

“Oh, good. Look, I’m not concerned that it will be weird getting dinner with Vána and Nienna. They’re dear friends of mine, and I think you’ll enjoy them. I’m more – I was thinking – I’m not sure…” Oromë trailed off, and Celegorm looked at him curiously.

“What?”

“I just don’t know that going out the four of us in public is such a good idea,” said Oromë quietly.

“Oh.” Celegorm pushed himself upright and considered. “I mean, even if people we knew saw us, they wouldn’t necessarily know it is…what it is.”

“I suppose.” Oromë still looked worried, and Celegorm rested his chin on his shoulder, letting his lips brush lightly against Oromë’s neck.

“You embarrassed to be seen out with me?”

“What? No!” Oromë caught Celegorm’s hand and squeezed it tightly. “That’s not it at all, Tyelko, I promise. I could never be embarrassed by you.”

“I think everyone I’m related to would tell you that’s not true. But I’m gonna hold you to it.” Celegorm lifted Oromë’s hand and pressed a kiss to it. “So you’re still concerned that people will have questions on the whole you-used-to-be-my-coach thing?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck ‘em. No one can make calls on what’s between us but us.”

“That’s not true. There are valid questions to raise, and I don’t know if we’re ready to take that on...”

“Anyone tries to come after you, they’ll have to go through me,” said Celegorm firmly. “But if your job might be at risk – ”

“I honestly don’t know.” Oromë ran a hand over his hair tiredly. “This is all new territory for me, Tyelko.”

“I think we should go to dinner,” said Celegorm, turning Oromë’s hand over to kiss the palm. “You realize we’ve never been out to eat together? Like, on a date?”

“I know.” Oromë gazed at Celegorm, sadness bright in his eyes, and Celegorm quickly tried to lighten the mood.

“You know I’m always game for shenanigans, and dinner with my boyfriend, my boyfriend’s wife, and my boyfriend’s wife’s girlfriend sounds like it fits the bill. Let’s do it. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I always feel like someone’s walking over my grave when you say things like that,” Oromë muttered, but he relented as Celegorm laughed and kissed him.

 

\---

 

Curufin brought his head down until his gaze was level with the desk, and examined his device critically. The one-eighth scale spark-gap was crackling merrily, and the purplish glow of its electric pulse gave the room an eerie light. A breeze sprang up through the open window, sending some papers skidding off the desk. Curufin stopped them with an absent hand and dropped them to the floor. Still watching the miniature Jacob’s Ladder, he jotted some notes into the notebook propped on his knees. The wind gusted stronger through the window, making the spark gap crackle and fizz, and Curufin shivered. He leaned forward to disconnect the device, and then reached to close the window. The room suddenly much warmer, he sat back in his chair with a sigh, flicking a loose lock of hair out of his eyes.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn’t hear the light rap on the door, or register when it opened. He didn’t even see, at first, the pale figure in his doorway.

“Curvo?”

Finrod’s voice was very tentative, and at the sound Curufin looked up immediately, his eyes narrowing. “Oh, you’re back are you?”

“I swear I’ll be quick.” This time, when Finrod slipped into his room, he stayed far away, back to the closed door, trying to keep as much distance between them as possible. He started to say something, and then broke off. “What’s that smell?”

“Ozone,” said Curufin, shortly.

Finrod’s eyes flickered to the desk and lit briefly in recognition. “A Jacob’s Ladder. I hope you had the window open when it was on.”

“Of course.” Curufin drummed his fingers against the desk. “What do you want, Findaráto?” He said the name brusquely, refusing to let it linger on his tongue.

Finrod took a deep breath. “Right. Listen, I am so sorry, Curvo. I don’t know what I was thinking, what I did was so inappropriate – I never, never should have kissed you. It was crossing the line, and it was taking advantage, and if I could take it back, I would.”

Curufin felt a black veil of rage drop down over his eyes as an acid burn roared through his chest. “Are you kidding me?”

Finrod hesitated, looking like he was searching for the right answer. “No?”

“You _impossible_ – ” Curufin stood up and kicked the chair out of his way, furious. Finrod had no right to look so confused. “How dare you?” He strode across the room until he was inches from Finrod, who, he was pleased to see, looked deeply apprehensive. “You have the nerve to – to – ” He looked around, as if someone might be lurking in the corner, listening, and dropped his voice to a hiss, “to _kiss_ me, you arrogant, presumptuous ass, and then – _then_ – ”

“That’s why I’m trying to apologize,” said Finrod, his eyes flickering as he tilted his head back, trying to see Curufin’s face as he pressed closer. With Finrod shrinking back they were nearly of a height, Curufin noted, pleased, and he could actually pull off looming slightly over him. “I need you to know how sorry I am.”

“ _Sorry_?” Curufin snarled and leaned forward, laying his hand against the door next to Finrod’s head. The other fisted, almost involuntarily, in the front of Finrod’s shirt. “You son of a bitch. First you kiss me, and then you have the _gall_ to regret it? Who do you think you are?”

Finrod stared at him. “I don’t understand. Curvo, what exactly are you angry about?”

“I don’t want you to regret it,” whispered Curufin, low and dangerous. “I don’t want you to apologize.”

“You don’t?”

“No.” Curufin leaned forward, closing the last inch between them. “I want you to do it again.”

And he seized Finrod’s lips in a savage kiss.

He kissed Finrod like a challenge, like a dare – like a terrifying, gut-dropping leap. _Do you want this? Do you regret this?_

And maybe, just a little: _Do I want this? Will I regret this?_

(For a moment, he did.)

But Finrod kissed him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. [Snartha has inadvertently illustrated Finrod and Curvo’s interaction in the final scene](http://33.media.tumblr.com/dab8c6289ec90ed3631be390d3b098df/tumblr_neskeqZcdJ1qf1ipjo2_1280.jpg); either witchcraft or espionage at work, clearly.


	30. You're hard to hug, tough to talk to

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some rather confused make-outs, a pile of Fëanorions, and sockless date prep.

Finrod’s lips were warm under his, his hand was still knotted in Finrod’s shirt, and Curufin was completely at a loss.

He could feel Finrod’s lips part slightly under his, and he shivered. _I have no idea what I’m doing_ , he thought, wildly, _This never happens. This can’t happen._ To cover his uncertainty he surged forward, pressing Finrod back against the wall, kissing him almost violently. Finrod’s hands came up then, cupping Curufin’s face before carding gently through his hair and pulling him back slightly. One hand slid to the back of Curufin’s head, the other settled on his jaw, tilting his chin slightly to change the angle of the kiss.

“Easy,” whispered Finrod, and for a moment Curufin burned with humiliation, aware that he was being coached.

_I don’t need your help!_

But he was secretly grateful for Finrod’s light touch as he guided their lips together once more, running two fingers against Curufin’s throat, where Curufin was sure he’d be able to feel the frantic pounding of his heart. He flinched back slightly when he felt the brush of Finrod’s tongue against his lips, and immediately Finrod backed off. But though the sensation was alien, and odd, Curufin felt a wild rush of recklessness, and parted his lips for Finrod’s tongue.

 _This is strange_ , he thought, abstractedly, as Finrod laid an arm around his waist, his other hand light on the back of Curufin’s neck. Though he could feel his body responding, part of his brain refused to stop pointing out the individual motes of strangeness: How odd, the texture of another’s tongue. How invasive, to know the taste of another’s mouth. The inherent awkwardness of the whole thing, their noses bumping, the inevitability of teeth… There was an odd curl of sensation in the pit of his stomach, and he couldn’t tell whether it was desire or disgust. The mingling of breath, the slick wetness of mouths…

 _Shut up,_ he ordered his brain _, shut up shut up shut up_

His left hand was still pressed flat to the wall by Finrod’s head, and as an afterthought, he moved it down, almost curiously, to touch Finrod’s neck. Finrod gave a murmur and tipped his head slightly to the right, exposing the stretch of skin between ear and shoulder, and Curufin, emboldened, ran his fingers along it. Finrod shuddered against him and Curufin felt oddly gratified at the response. He hesitated, distracted, and Finrod broke their kiss. Curufin thought for a moment that Finrod would push him away, but instead Finrod brought his mouth to just below Curufin’s ear, and then lower, lightly sucking at the sensitive skin of his throat. Curufin drew in a sharp breath, his hand tightening on Finrod’s shoulder, but just managed not to jerk back. He lowered his own head and nuzzled against Finrod’s neck, startled at the heat of his flesh. He twitched as he felt Finrod’s tongue slide against his skin, and almost defensively, he bit down on Finrod’s shoulder in retribution. Finrod gave a whole-body shiver and a low moan, muffled into Curufin’s neck.

_He likes it._

This realization both exhilarated and disturbed him, and so he retreated. Half of him wanted to push Finrod away, out of the room, shut the door and lock it, but the other half couldn’t seem to stop. Not wanting his trepidation to show – _I am_ not _following your lead; I am_ not _afraid –_ he caught Finrod’s chin and pulled him roughly back into a kiss.

_Is this what Tyelko meant when he asked if I wanted him? Is this want?_

Surely the room was far too hot and airless. He should never have closed the window.

_And what does it mean if he wants me back?_

Finrod’s teeth tugged playfully at Curufin’s lower lip and Curufin sank his fingers into the soft hair at the back of Finrod’s neck, digging his fingernails into Finrod’s scalp as his skin crawled and burned.

 _Always he manages to get under my skin –_  

He didn’t know how long they would have stayed there, wrapped together, kissing feverishly against the closed door – perhaps hours; perhaps only seconds, until Curufin yielded to some embarrassing urge to flee or shout or burst into tears – had there not been a noise from downstairs. They froze together, listening. The noise came again, and Curufin realized it was the sound of someone whose arms were full, fumbling to open the front door.

Sure enough, a harassed voice came indistinctly from outside. “Is anyone home? Can you open the door for me?” This was followed by the thump, as though someone had kicked the door for emphasis.

“You have to go,” said Curufin at once, releasing Finrod as if he’d been burned.

“Yes,” said Finrod, “I – ” He broke off, looking confused, and Curufin wondered when he’d ever seen Finrod so clearly at a loss for words.

“Go downstairs,” Curufin ordered, smoothing his clothes and shaking his hair back from his face, “Ahead of me. _Quickly_ , you idiot, and go into Moryo’s room. You can go out the window from there – I know you have before. I’ll get the front door.”

“Yes.” Finrod stared at him, and half lifted a hand as if to touch his cheek. Curufin flinched, and then Finrod was gone, so fast that for a moment Curufin blinked, stupefied.

“ _Please_ will someone open the door?” came Maglor’s plaintive voice again from the front stoop.

Curufin rattled down the stairs, sparing only a glance for the swift figure vanishing into Caranthir’s room. He yanked the door open, and Maglor half fell over the lintel, weighed down with grocery bags and instrument cases.

“Why didn’t you put something down and open the door yourself?” he asked impatiently, grabbing a bag from Maglor’s arms.

“I just didn’t,” Maglor grumbled. “Oh god, my fingers are _frozen_ …”

Curufin only half listened, his eyes lighting on Finrod as he slipped around the corner of the house and down the sidewalk. Finrod looked over his shoulder, and their eyes met, once, before Curufin closed the door.

 

\---

 

The longer the week, the bleaker Maglor’s mood.

It had to be a sign, he thought, of how pathetic he’d become, that while wandering aimlessly through the house, he’d found himself in Maedhros’ old room and was almost immediately overcome with emotion. Despite telling himself to turn around and leave – _You have things to do, there’s no time for self-indulgent moping_ – he found himself curling up on the bed instead. Maedhros had left one of his sweaters folded neatly on the quilt, and Maglor told himself that he had just picked it up to move it out of his way, not to hold it close and close his eyes, feeling an ache like homesickness rattle through his chest.

He definitely wasn’t going to tuck his face against it, his eyes stinging at the familiar scent.

Definitely not.

That would be so _trite_.

It was some time later that Caranthir found him there, having traipsed through the house searching for him.

“Káno! Where are the hell are you? Why are the lights out? …Oh.”

He paused at the doorway, scrutinizing Maglor’s back. Maglor didn’t look up, but Caranthir hesitated, and then crossed the room and sat down on the bed. He picked up one of the pillows and turned it over idly in his hands.

“You miss him a lot, huh?” he said at last, and Maglor raised his head. Caranthir carefully looked away so that Maglor could discreetly wipe his eyes.

“Yes.”

“Sorry we’re not better at being him,” mumbled Caranthir, still looking away, and Maglor shook his head.

“No, please don’t, Moryo. I don’t need you guys to replace him, I just… It’s been a while since we’ve lived apart, is all. And it’s weird being without him.”

“It is.” Caranthir scooted back and lay down on the bed next to Maglor. “I miss him too, you know.”

Maglor blinked, surprised. It was unusual for Caranthir to be this forthcoming – almost as unusual as him actively seeking out his brothers’ company. “Really?”

“Really.”

Maglor felt a lump rise in his throat again, and coughed, clearing his throat gruffly. He felt caught by a sudden urge to explain himself. “I feel like I should be filling his shoes. Doing what he did for you guys, being a better big brother…”

“You are a good big brother,” said Caranthir, embarrassed. “You always have been, it’s not just Maitimo who does that.”

Maglor turned over, Maedhros’ old sweater dropping silently off the side of the bed. “Really?”

“Really.”

There was a long silence, broken by Maglor asking, “Moryo, are you doing okay?”

Caranthir blinked. “Yeah.”

 

-

When they were small, Caranthir had always been difficult to talk to. He would come home from school sometimes, sizzling with anger, but would refuse to tell anyone what had happened. Their parents would try to persuade him to talk until they were blue in the face and exasperated, but Caranthir would stay stubbornly silent, his ears red with suppressed fury and his dark eyes flashing so fiercely he was a little frightening looking.

Maglor had found that if he left his door open, Caranthir would find his way in. He’d turn around and see Caranthir sitting against the closet door, picking moodily at the carpet. Eventually, Maglor would go over to sit next to him. Not looking at him, he’d ask a patient series of yes or no questions, and slowly but surely, get the story from his younger brother.

_Did a big kid hit you at school?_

_No._

_But someone did._

_Yeah._

_Someone we know?_

_Yeah._

_Are you embarrassed to tell because they’re smaller than you?_

_…Yeah._

_Was it that girl from the second grade? The one who took your book on the bus the other day?_

Yes _._

_Hm. Okay. How would you like me and Maitimo to walk you to school instead? Just for a little while, maybe. Would that work for you?_

_…Yes._

_That’s what we’ll do, then._

-

 

Maglor had a sudden flash to those days, as he glanced over at his long, lanky brother, whose face was even now caught in a dark frown.

He decided to keep trying. “No, but actually. How are you doing?”

There was a pause, and then Caranthir mumbled, “I’unno.”

Almost without realizing what he was doing, Maglor stretched out an arm. Caranthir stiffened at first, uncertain, and then Maglor felt something tight in his chest loosen as Caranthir rolled over to tuck his face against Maglor’s shoulder. He was several inches taller than Maglor, and Maglor was sure they looked very silly lying there, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care as he wrapped his arm around his brother’s shoulders.

There was another long silence, as Maglor thought about what question to ask next. Finally, he decided he wasn’t going to beat around the bush.

“Moryo, are you sleeping with Findaráto?”

Caranthir didn’t answer for a while, his face still hidden. Maglor tugged lightly at his hair. “I won’t judge you, I promise.”

Caranthir let out a breath, and Maglor felt it hot against his shoulder. “Yeah.”

“I guessed.”

“Yeah.”

“Is that why he and Amarië – ”

“Yeah.”

Maglor bit his lip, but was unable to restrain his curiosity. “Are you dating him now?”

“I dunno.”

Maglor thought for another moment, his fingers brushing absently over Caranthir’s back. “Do you still have feelings for Haleth?”

Caranthir gave a muffled groan, his ears turning red, and he buried his face further into Maglor’s shoulder. Eventually, Maglor felt him nod.

Maglor tightened his arm around Caranthir, but kept himself from saying anything sympathetic, knowing how much Caranthir hated the appearance of pity. “Who’s she dating, anyway?”

“Aunt Lalwen.”

Maglor was effectively distracted by this revelation. “WHAT?”

“I know.”

Maglor lay still, digesting this. Before he could think of another question, a figure appeared in the doorway and regarded them with some amusement.

“What is this, a slumber party? You guys braiding each other’s hair? Dishing about boys?”

Caranthir growled, but Maglor didn’t respond, simply holding out his free arm.

Celegorm shook his head, grinning. “You sap.” He came over to the bed anyway and flopped down on Maglor’s other side. The bed creaked alarmingly, but Celegorm ignored it, curling up against Maglor like a large, warm cat. “This bed is _way_ too small for all of us. Now I think of it, this is probably why Maitimo didn’t have any threeways.”

“That we know of,” muttered Caranthir, against Maglor’s shoulder.

“Fair point. What were you guys talking about?”

“Um,” began Maglor cautiously, but Caranthir mumbled, “He knows.”

“Oh. Moryo’s love life, then.”

“Oooh, excellent,” said Celegorm, snuggling closer and resting his chin on Maglor’s chest.

Maglor gave an ‘oof’ of discomfort, but Celegorm ignored him. “So, did you tell Káno, or did he figure it out himself?”

“It was kind of obvious,” said Maglor, elbowing Celegorm until he removed his chin from Maglor’s sternum. “Thin walls, you know, and you guys kept insisting on dramatic conversations in the hallway, as if we weren’t like three feet away.”

“Well, I wasn’t the one who thought that was a good idea. _I_ was just running interference.”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Caranthir began, sounding distinctly uncomfortable.

“What is going _on_?”

They all looked up. Curufin was standing in the doorway, looking disapproving. “Don’t you all have your own rooms? And beds? Why are you all on that terrible old futon of Nelyo’s? You look like a litter of puppies.” He said it with the tone of disgust usually reserved for ‘pits of maggots’ or ‘heaps of rotting limbs.’

“Makalaurë started it,” said Caranthir.

“Come join the pile, peewee,” said Celegorm, unabashed, holding out his arms, but Curufin folded his arms.

“Absolutely not.”

He did cross the room, though, and sat carefully on the foot of the bed, out of reach, watching his brothers with deep skepticism. Maglor poked him with a toe, and Curufin pinched it.

“Ouch.”

“You deserved it.”

“C’mere, brat,” said Celegorm, and grabbed Curufin by the ankle.

“Tyelko, I will _kill_ you – ”

“Too late.” Celegorm seized Curufin around the waist and manhandled him back into the pile with Maglor and Caranthir.

“I will kill _you_ , I will kill your _dog_ , I will give your boyfriend _ebola_ – ”

“You sick little freak, shut up and be hugged.”

“I will tell _dad_ – ”

“That threat didn’t work when we were kids, why do you think it’ll work now?” Celegorm wrapped his arms tighter around Curufin’s waist and squeezed until Curufin gasped for breath.

“I’ve got more dirt on you now, you asshole.”

"And I've got fifty pounds on _you_ , asshole, so unless you want to be crushed to death, you will shut up and let me love you."

“Why were you all looking for me, anyway?” Maglor asked after an interlude, during which Curufin hissed threats until Celegorm smothered him with a pillow.

Caranthir shrugged. “I was wondering what we were doing for dinner.”

“Same.”

Maglor tried not to let his impatience rise. “I told you: I’ll only cook for everyone two nights a week; the rest of the time you’re on your own.”

Curufin emerged from under the pillows, having kicked Celegorm viciously in the shins until he freed him. “That’s fine. I’m set for this evening, anyway.”

Maglor and Celegorm both looked at him, disbelieving. “Sure.”

“What did you make yourself? Birdseed? Half a mouse?”

“I had popcorn.”

“Popcorn does not count as dinner,” said Celegorm and Maglor together, and Caranthir grinned.

“You two just sounded _exactly_ like mom.”

Curufin smirked as Celegorm and Maglor exchanged horrified looks. “Watch out, Tyelko. With Nelyo gone, Makalaurë’s going to be looking for a new co-parent and you’re stepping right into his shoes…”

“I am _not_ ,” said Celegorm vehemently. “Look, just because me ‘n’ Kano are the only two left who can actually _cook_ – ”

“Someday you’re both going to have to learn to cook more than one dish,” put in Maglor. “Honestly, you’re embarrassments.”

Caranthir and Curufin exchanged the long-suffering looks of younger siblings deeply bored with a particular line of discussion, and for a moment, things were as they always had been. Then something flickered behind Curufin’s eyes, and his face closed off again. Caranthir glowered and looked away.

Celegorm caught sight of the exchange and frowned, but just said, “Well, the dinner argument is going to have to take place without me, nerds, I’ve got plans.”

“What kind of plans?” asked Maglor curiously, as Caranthir got up from the bed and went over the lean against the window, arms folded and eyes dark.

“None of your business.” Celegorm got up too, ruffling Curufin’s hair in passing.

Curufin curled his lip and whispered, “I will poison your dog.”

“Nope.”

“I’ll poison _you_.”

Celegorm grinned at him and bent down to kiss him loudly on the cheek. Curufin fell back from him, revulsion rendering him momentarily speechless.

“Hey, Káno, you got a tie I can borrow?

“Um. Maybe?” Maglor tried to think, his eyes flicking to Caranthir, who was staring out the window. Curufin was watching him too, something odd in his expression. “It might be the one I wore to Grandfather’s funeral, though.”

“Yeah, wrong vibes. I’m gonna need something else.” Celegorm joined Caranthir at the window and slung an arm over his shoulders, pulling him along out of the room. “C’mon, beanpole, let’s go hunting for formalwear…”

 

\---

 

In the hallway, Oromë’s grandfather clock had just struck seven. Celegorm was halfway dressed, but had gotten sidetracked by Huan, who had seized one of his socks and was now leaping happily around the room with it.

“Come here, you filthy animal, I’ll eat your paws and ears for dinner and use your tail as a belt – ”

Huan sneezed happily, still clinging to the sock, and Celegorm half laughed, half groaned, sinking down on the bed and throwing a pillow at his wayward pet.

“Goddammit.”

“Are you not dressed yet?” Oromë came into the bedroom, shrugging his jacket on over his dress shirt.

Celegorm’s eyes lit up as they fell on Oromë, and he wolf-whistled.  “ _Damn_. You are pulling that look _off_. Especially the part where your shirt isn’t buttoned up all the way yet, leave it like that for _sure_ …”

But Oromë shook his head, already starting to do up the last buttons on his shirt. “Our reservations are for 7:30. You have fifteen minutes before…” His eyes raked Celegorm’s form. “…Are you barefoot?”

“Huan’s got my sock,” said Celegorm, by way of explanation, and Oromë looked like he was restraining himself from rolling his eyes only with difficulty.

“Grab a pair of mine.”

Celegorm leaned back on his elbows, still watching Oromë, his eyes lingering on the fit of Oromë’s jacket over his broad shoulders. “Why didn’t I know how fucking good you look in a suit?”

“Possibly because you’ve never seen me in a suit?” Oromë pulled a pair of socks from the bureau and tossed them at Celegorm’s head. “Socks. Shoes. And fix your tie.”

“Fine, fine.” Celegorm tore his gaze from Oromë and pulled on the socks before standing up and kicking the door shut so he could examine himself in the mirror behind it. “Oh man, though, I definitely _have_ seen you in a suit before. At the team awards dinners, I remember now. Like I wasn't distracted enough by you before...” He made a face in the mirror as he fiddled with his collar. “I don’t like ties.”

Oromë’s large hands settled on his shoulders and he pressed a kiss below his ear. “Too bad. You look good in them.”

“I feel like I’m on a leash,” complained Celegorm, and squawked as Oromë tugged lightly on his tie.

“We haven’t gotten quite to that kind of play yet,” said Oromë, very quietly into his ear, and Celegorm shuddered anticipatorily.

“Christ, aren’t you supposed to be convincing me to get _into_ clothes, not out of them?”

“That’s true,” said Oromë, and let his hands drop. He moved to the door, straightening the cuffs of his shirt. “Best to save all that for later, hm?”

Celegorm sighed but examined himself once more in the mirror, dragging his fingers through his shaggy fall of hair. “Promise?”

“I promise.” Oromë caught Celegorm’s wrist as he began to tie his hair back in a ponytail. “Leave it down.”

Celegorm raised an eyebrow. “Really? Shouldn’t I – ”

“No.” Their eyes met in the mirror, and Celegorm bit his lip, grinning at the look in Oromë’s eyes.

“You have a _fetish_.”

“I do not. You just…look good with your hair down.” Oromë checked his watch. “Are you ready?”

“Uh.” Celegorm shot a final look at himself and growled in annoyance. “No. Tie’s still all cockeyed. Stupid thing.”

“Let me.” Oromë turned Celegorm around and began fiddling with the knot. Celegorm watched him, smiling slightly as he saw Oromë’s brows knit in frustration. “…How’s it going there, Coach?”

“It’s not…it won’t…” Oromë gave a muffled curse. “All right, to hell with it.” He pulled the tie free from Celegorm’s neck and tossed it to the bed.

“Hang on, won’t I look bad without it?”

“You could wear a tux and you’d still look like an insolent, unruly, unbearably enticing rogue.” Oromë tilted Celegorm’s chin up and pressed a swift kiss to his lips. “If they’re any judge of appearances, they’ll throw you out immediately, tie or not. But bad? You’re incapable of looking _bad_.”

“Good, then I’m undoing the top button too.” Celegorm did so, even as Oromë’s fingers lingered on his chin, thumb brushing lightly over Celegorm’s lower lip.

“Hm. Bad choice…”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you know I can’t resist your throat.” Oromë bent to press a slightly more prolonged kiss to the exposed hollow of Celegorm’s throat, and Celegorm gripped Oromë’s jacketed shoulders warningly.

“Careful,” he said, his voice a little rough. “If you leave a mark…”

“Then you’ll have to button your damn shirt, won’t you?”

Celegorm groaned. “I can never tell when you’re being legitimately being seduced by me, and when you’re blatantly manipulating me…”

“I’ll never tell.” Oromë pulled back, though his movements were undeniably reluctant, and placed a final kiss on Celegorm’s lips.

“Does that mean you think I look good?” Celegorm tilted his head back, grinning. “You like me all dressed up and squeaky clean, huh?”

Oromë gave a half smile, and there was a glint in his amber eyes. “I like you all ways.” He tossed Celegorm his jacket. “You know that.”

Celegorm caught it and slung it over his shoulder. “Damn straight. Now let’s get this double-date on the road.” He caught up with Oromë and grabbed his hand, interlacing their fingers. “Vána and Nienna, here we come… There’s no way they’re going to look hotter than we do.”

“No comment.”

“You’re right,” said Celegorm musingly, as Oromë pulled him out the door. “I’ve seen your wife, and she is a _dime_ …”

Oromë sighed, laying an arm over Celegorm’s shoulders as Celegorm sauntered down the walkway. “This is going to be a very long night, isn’t it?”

"You better believe it, babe." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. [ My official Caranthir/Finrod/Curufin song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9BEuQDt9mtU). (Next chapter is going to be entirely angsty songfic – at one point, one of the characters will actually sing parts of the song to another, to fully express their feelings.)  
> 1\. In all seriousness: I’m coming up on about a month plus of travel for work, travel for the holidays, being with family, being at conferences, etc, so I’m going to be wicked busy. This is all to say that I have no clue when I’ll get the time to write the next update! It could easily still be weekly for a bit; I really have no idea how busy I’ll be until I get into it. And given that I do write for my own stress-relief, it may just be the way I spend my one free hour a day… but it could just as easily be a while before I have the flexibility or brain power to do so. (Not to mention I have several plot threads to untangle, and some new ones I’m desperate start, and I need to figure out my shizz before I dive into writing them.) So please be patient with me over the next month or so! I really appreciate, by the way, everyone who’s commented or kudosed or done fanart (this still blows me away, my god) – it never fails to make my _life_. I’ll still respond to any comments or messages (I’m imindhowwelayinjune on Tumblr, if anyone hasn’t found me there yet) – they make me so happy that it’s nigh impossible for me NOT to respond, anyway.


	31. I love your lies, I'll eat 'em up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You didn’t really expect this to be a straightforward double date, did you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. For some reason, even though I’ve known what was going to happen in this chapter for…over a month, actually, it was like pulling teeth to write it. But I managed to get it out! We’ll see if I can pull off another chapter before I leave for a conference in two weeks and then get sucked into family and holiday things…(I appreciate, as ever, your patience with me <3)
> 
> 1\. Dedicated to all the wonderful people who have given me encouragement, of both the verbal and artistic variety. MJ, Irene, Silje, Elleth, and all of the rest of you who put up with my whining and send me love anyway – this one’s for you. Irene, you have earned, like, five big sloppy kisses from me for all the indulgent doodles you send me. (Cue Irene being incredibly grateful there’s an ocean between us and I can’t actually get my paws on her). Likewise, MJ, your elf dicks and deeply, horribly distracting drawings give me life. By which I mean, I die errytime.

_Here are the things you’re not going to do._ Celegorm shrugged his jacket off and laid it over the back of his seat, looking determinedly at his place setting. _You are not going to make horrified noises at the prices when you open the menu. You are not going to put your elbows on the table. You are not going to get drunk. You are not going to make dick jokes, and for fuck’s sake,_ stop staring _at your boyfriend’s wife’s cleavage._

He raised his eyes cautiously. Vána was sitting across the table from him, her shoulders bared by the swooping neckline of her dress, a heavy green pendant lying between her breasts. It certainly drew the eye, and Celegorm found himself noticing, yet again, what a deeply attractive woman Vána was. He wrenched his eyes upward, and caught Vána watching him. She winked.

Celegorm choked and buried his nose in his water glass to hide his embarrassed grin.

Oromë laid a hand on his back. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah,” muttered Celegorm. “Something just went down the wrong way.”

“That happened to me once in Prague,” said Vána, taking a sip of her own water. “I was in bed with this beautiful Czech woman and I ended up hooked on her hood piercing. Talk about going down the wrong way…”

“ _Vána_ ,” said Oromë and Nienna together.

Vána gave a beautiful smile, and Celegorm hooted, then caught himself and coughed to cover his laugh. “Damn. Can I marry you next?”

“Nienna has – what do you call them? – dibs,” said Vána. “But since apparently we’re all about taking young lovers these days, Tyelkormo, let me just – ”

“Vána,” said Oromë. “For heaven’s sake.”

“Time to order the wine,” said Nienna firmly, and beckoned for the waiter.

 

-

 

Some time later, they were well into a bottle of a very good wine that cost about as much as Celegorm made in a week – “Do not make that face at me, Oromë,” Vána said dismissively, “it is our treat.” – and the first course of an excellent dinner. Oromë was as smiling and relaxed as Celegorm usually only saw him when they were alone together, and Nienna was sharing stories from work.

“My own patients are mostly lovely people,” she was saying, setting her wine glass down. “Most of whom have endured unimaginable tragedy. I do work with people who have survived natural disasters and other accidents – shootings, fires such as the one at – ” she broke off, then, her dark eyes catching Celegorm’s for a moment, and the unspoken flames of Alqualondë reared momentarily between them. But then Nienna went on smoothly, breaking eye contact with Celegorm. “ – and on the whole, I am very lucky in the people I treat. No, the good stories come from my twenties, when I wasn’t a grief counselor yet but just an assistant in a regular doctor’s office.”

“Oh, yes,” said Vána, dabbing her lips with her napkin. “What was that story about the man in the waiting room, who turned into – ”

“A tiger,” said Nienna, imperturbably.

“Sorry, what?” Celegorm propped his chin on his hand and regarded her with fascination.

“I came out to tell him the doctor was ready to see him for his lymph node issue,” said Nienna, taking a cherry tomato from Vána’s plate, “and he was prowling the waiting room on all fours, growling.”

“Apparently it just happened sometimes,” said Vána. “Isn’t that right, my love?”

“Yes. He told us later that he was a tiger approximately 25% of the time, and that he couldn’t say when it was going to happen, but not to worry, he’d never mauled anyone.” Nienna looked thoughtful. “And he certainly never gave us any trouble.”

“Bitchin’,” said Celegorm, delighted, and then paused. _Pretend you’re Curvo._ _Talk like you have a thesaurus up your ass._ “Ah. I mean, that is some truly prodigious shit.” He swallowed his wine and winced as Oromë chuckled softly. “ ‘Scuse my language.”

“You’re right,” said Nienna, turning to Vána. “He _is_ oddly charming.”

“Oddly?” said Celegorm, grinning, as Oromë laid an arm across the back of his chair and leveled a glance at the two women.

“That’s quite enough, you two.”

“I don’t even remember the last one you brought around who wasn’t a hopelessly ill fit for you,” Nienna went on. “Do you, Vána?”

“Well, it is hard to stretch the brain back that far.” Vána ate a leaf of spinach pensively. “Oh, who was that terribly peculiar one you were seeing, my goodness, ten years ago? The pale one…he wrote a lot of poetry…”

“Oh!” Nienna nodded. “Didn’t he play with you?”

Oromë groaned. “Can we not – ?”

“No!” Celegorm was looking avid. “Tell me _more_. This was someone on the national team with you?”

“Only briefly,” muttered Oromë. “You never would have seen him, he was third or fourth string…”

“And no wonder.” Vána shook her head. “Built rather slightly for a rugby player, that Tilion, I thought. Anyway, he retired and went into…something with satellites, was it?”

“I thought he was a solar panel technician.”

“Oh, he had all sorts of lunatic ideas about what he was doing with his life.”

“Whatever it was, he was probably far better at it than rugby…”

“I generally thought his main appeal must have been in the bedroom, n’est-ce pas? His poetry was terrible, too.”

Oromë was spinning his empty wine glass between his fingers, looking deeply uncomfortable.

Celegorm was laughing. “Are you guys doing this for my benefit? Because man, I appreciate it.”

“I don’t.”

“Shh.” Celegorm laid his fingers over Oromë’s mouth. “I’m going to get all the dirt you won’t tell me.”

 

-

 

After another couple glasses of wine and the soup course, Vána and Nienna were laughing affectionately at Oromë, who had his head buried in his hands, and Celegorm was exultant.

“No shit! I always wondered what that tattoo meant!”

“Indeed. Our ‘Great Rider’…”

“Please stop,” Oromë implored them. “There is a reason I don’t let Nessa keep any photos of me from back then.”

“I have some,” said Vána immediately. “You forget I only met you, Oromë, because I was hopelessly in love with your sister.”

“Really?” Celegorm leaned forward, interested.

“Of course! She didn’t know it – well, neither did I, truthfully, I was young and oblivious and just thought I simply _really_ liked her as a friend – and those were in the days before she was _the_ Nessa, before she was dancing professionally, before she was prima ballerina, before she and Elemmírë opened their studio…”

“…before she got married…”

“Hush, you,” said Vána, slapping lightly at Nienna’s arm. “ _I_ got married too, after all.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t get the sibling you wanted,” said Oromë, smiling slightly. “I’m afraid I’m nowhere near as light on my feet as she is.”

“You have the same delicate ankles,” said Vána, and laughed as Oromë flicked water from his glass at her. “Anyway, Tyelkormo, I have photos of our Oromë as a young wastrel that I am _certain_ you will appreciate.”

Celegorm got to his feet, laughing too. “I’m gonna make you share those, for _sure_. I’ll be right back.”

 

-

 

Coming out of the restroom, Celegorm made to go back into the dining room, but something made him draw up short before he made it out of the hallway. There was a figure standing at their table, facing away from him, and it wasn’t the waiter. A well-dressed, dark-haired man…and at his side, a woman with very familiar red hair.

Celegorm’s back hit the wall of the hallway so hard that the framed reproduction of _Olympia_ next to him slipped precariously on its fixture. Wincing, Celegorm reached out a hand to straighten it, then peered very cautiously around the corner once more. This time, the man had turned slightly, and Celegorm could see his profile. There was no mistaking it.

Fëanor and Nerdanel were talking to Oromë.

His heart beating horribly fast, Celegorm retreated slightly, drawing an odd look from the woman pushing past him to use the restroom.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispered. “Tonight of all fucking nights… God _dammit_ , what were we thinking?”

He pulled out his phone and texted the only person he could think of. 

 

 _curvo. SOS. dads at the fucking restaurant._  

 

He waited, knowing that Curufin, if he wasn’t absorbed in a project, generally responded almost instantly.

He wasn’t let down.

 

 _What restaurant? What are you talking about?_ _Don’t SOS me if you’re going to be totally obscure._

 

_i’m on a date with orome. and his wife and her gf._

_…You are certifiable. You went out in public?_

 

_it was their idea. vana’s and nienna’s. dad AND MOM just showed up._

_i was in the bathroom thank god but now theyre at our table talkin to orome wtf do i do_

 

_Stay put, obviously, until they leave._

 

_but what if they suspect something?_

 

_They might. But it’s just going to look like Orome is out with his wife and a friend, isn’t it?_

_They don’t know he has his idiot boytoy with him. Or that that’s you._  

 

_u r not helping_

 

 _What do you want me to do? Rappel in through the skylight and cause a diversion?_  

 

_yeah! wait tho, actually, can you call dad/_

 

 _Seriously?_  

 

_cmon. just get him to step outside_

 

_Then when you try and slip out, you’ll have to go right by him. Moron._

_No, you wait until he’s seated with mom - however long that takes –_

_then if your boyfriend is at the very least smarter than you, he’ll get the check and leave,_

_and you can slip out with him as he goes._

 

_i haven’t even finished my dinner!_

_That’s what you’re worried about? Jesus,Tyelko._  

_ok ok yeah_

 

Celegorm looked up from his phone and dared another peek around the corner. Fëanor was talking to Vána now while Nerdanel had bent down to say something to Nienna. Oromë was looking around, clearly tense. He caught sight of Celegorm and his eyes lit with anxiety. He shook his head slightly. Celegorm held up his phone, and mouthed, _Text me._ Fëanor straightened up, and Celegorm whisked back around the corner, typing fast.

 

_can u try n get out as soon as they leave?_

 

There was a pause, doubtless due to Oromë trying to be subtle in reaching his own phone.

 

_I’ll get the check asap. Stay where you are._

  _k_

 

Celegorm tipped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes briefly. _This is what he was afraid of._ He opened his eyes and stared unseeing at the wall of the hallway. _He’s going to do that thing where he tries to convince me this is his fault and I deserve better._

_Fuck that._

He started as his phone buzzed again. He glanced down, heart beating fast, but it was just Curufin.

 _Any updates?_  

_not really. orome’s gonna get the check and get out as soon as he can_

  _Good. Text me when you’re out._  

_k_

_Are you planning on coming home tonight?_  

_wasnt planning on it_

 

He waited, but Curufin didn’t reply right away.

_Fine. I’ll talk to you tomorrow._

  _yea._

 _everything ok with you?_  

_Now’s not the time to play solicitous big brother._

_Concentrate on getting out of there without dad seeing you._

  _yea. thnks._

 

A hand descended on his shoulder and Celegorm jumped. He looked up and saw Oromë with Vána and Nienna at his side.

“Are they – ”

“Yes,” said Oromë tersely. “Let’s go.”

They walked in silence down the sidewalk, Vána pulling her shawl around her shoulders as a cold breeze sprang up; Nienna resting a light hand on the small of her back. Celegorm shot a sidelong glance at Oromë, half wishing he would reach out and touch Celegorm in the same way. But Oromë had buried his hands in his pockets and was staring straight ahead, his face closed off and unreadable. Celegorm felt a swoop of anxiety, and pushed his own hands into his pockets.

_We were doing so well, too._

They parted ways with Vána and Nienna at the corner, Vána stretching up to kiss Oromë on the cheek and whisper something Celegorm couldn’t make out. Then she was hugging him, and saying softly, “Do not worry, Tyelkormo. And,” her tone lightened, and she winked, “I will send you those pictures, for sure.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Nienna took his hand and squeezed it. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”

“You too,” said Celegorm, distracted. Oromë had turned away and Vána had taken his arm again, reaching up on her tiptoes to murmur something into his ear. “Uh. I’m sorry about the whole…” He gestured helplessly. “The shitty ending thing.”

“Nothing like a little intrigue to spice up an evening,” Nienna said, but her dark eyes were serious as she studied him.

“Yeah, I guess.” Celegorm pulled a hand through his hair and shot another glance at Oromë. “Next time we should eat in, though.”

“Indeed,” she said solemnly, and squeezed his hand once more before releasing it. “Sweetheart, we should be going. You must be freezing in that dress.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Vána broke away from Oromë and tucked her arm through Nienna’s. “Have a good rest of your night, my boys. Call me tomorrow, Oromë.”

“I will.”

 

They parted, Vána and Nienna going off arm in arm, Celegorm and Oromë walking side by side, still not touching. They walked in silence a while, but Celegorm was never very good at keeping quiet.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Seriously. I can’t believe my parents showed up, what fucking timing…”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Yeah, but I – ”

“Here’s the car,” said Oromë tonelessly. Celegorm stared at him, frustrated, but bit his tongue and got in. Once in the driver’s seat, though, Oromë didn’t start the car. He sat there, silent, staring through the windshield.

“Oromë?”

Oromë didn’t answer.

“The whole driving thing works better with the key in the ignition, y’know.” Celegorm waited. “You gonna say anything?”

Oromë still wouldn’t look at him and Celegorm ground his teeth. “ _Babe._ ”

“I felt like such scum tonight,” said Oromë, quietly. He rested his elbows on the steering wheel and sank his head into his hands. “I’ve never felt as sleazy as when your father was talking to me.”

“Oh. Well, he’s like that.” Celegorm leaned over, propping himself on the center console, trying to get Oromë to meet his gaze. “Just ask my step-uncle. Seriously, he’s, like, known for being able to make people feel like scum. He’s got this way of – ”

“No.” Oromë closed his eyes, as if in pain. “You don’t understand. He…he had nothing but praise for me. He couldn’t stop telling me how much he appreciated all I’d done for the team…all I’d done for you…”

Celegorm laid a hand on Oromë’s leg and Oromë flinched. “You _have_ done a lot for me.”

“ _Don’t.”_ Oromë’s fingers dug hard into his hair. “That is _not_ what he meant.”

“It’s not what I meant either.” Celegorm could feel himself getting angry and made a conscious effort to keep his voice steady. “You – you _saved_ me, Oromë. I woulda been kicked out the first semester of freshman year if it hadn’t been for you. I’m fuckin’ positive of this. I was _such_ a fuck-up, I had no clue what I was doing, I didn’t want to be there, I was doing whatever I could to get thrown out...and then you came along, and you didn’t take my shit, and you introduced me to something I loved, you gave me a purpose and you _believed_ in me, you saw potential in me, I mean seriously, what – ”

“Stop.” Oromë’s voice was heavy with pain. “Don’t you see how much more twisted that makes it? How sick is it that after acting as your mentor and coach, I took advantage of your feelings to sleep with you?”

“Don’t – don’t you,” Celegorm stopped and tried again, working hard to keep himself from shouting. “Don’t you fucking dare call what’s between us twisted, or sick. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, I _lo_ – ”

“Don’t say it.”

Celegorm dropped back in his seat, feeling like he’d been punched in the gut. “ _Oromë_.”

“I’m sorry,” whispered Oromë. “I’m sorry, Tyelko. I just – After everything that happened tonight, I realized…”

Celegorm dug his fingers into the armrest, fear choking him. _Not again._

“I’m so tired of lying,” said Oromë, and at last he raised his head and looked at Celegorm. “I’m sick of it. I’m sick of making you lie for my sake. I told you to stay put; I told you to _hide_. From your own father! I’m so sorry, Tyelko, you deserve so much better than this.”

“How many times do I have to tell you I don’t give a shit?”

“At least – ”

They both jumped as Celegorm’s phone buzzed. He dragged it out and looked at it.

 

_Did you get out? Everything okay?_

 

“It’s my brother,” said Celegorm, in answer to Oromë’s questioning look. “He just wanted to know – Doesn’t matter, I’ll text him later.” He turned off his phone and shoved it into his pocket.

Oromë rubbed a hand over his eyes, looking exhausted, and finally turned the key in the ignition. “You should answer now; doesn’t he worry?”

“Curvo? Nah, he’s just…I mean, it’s not worry, it’s…” Celegorm trailed off.

“The last time he had trouble getting ahold of you he showed up at my house, is all I’m saying.” Oromë pulled the car out of their parking spot and into the street.

“He says he won’t do that again. Probably. I was just letting him know that I was camped out hiding from our dad in case he had any evil genius ideas about how to escape.”

“I’m sorry, Tyelko.”

“Stop apologizing, _Jesus_.” Celegorm felt his temper rising again; sharpened by an edge of fear. He stared out the window, slumping low in the seat. “Just drive, Coach.”

 

-

 

They didn’t speak the rest of the ride, and it wasn’t until they were both standing in Oromë’s front hall that they looked at each other. Oromë shrugged off his jacket and undid the top couple buttons on his shirt, letting out a sigh like it was the first deep breath he'd taken all night.

Celegorm kept his jacket on. “So.” He stared up at Oromë, a slight challenge in his eyes. “You still want me to spend the night?”

“I don’t know,” said Oromë softly. “Is that a good idea?”

“Fine.” Celegorm clenched his teeth, determined not to appear upset. “I’ll just head home then.” He turned to go, put horribly in mind of that terrible night, a year ago now, when he’d left through this very door, smashing the glass on his way out…

But, “Wait,” said Oromë, and caught his elbow.

“What?”

Oromë looked like he couldn’t find the words he needed to say, and instead pulled Celegorm tightly into his arms, burying his face in Celegorm’s shoulder. Celegorm immediately brought his arms up to grip Oromë tightly, pressing the side of his face to Oromë’s bent head. Oromë clung to him, almost as if seeking support, and Celegorm clung back, whispering fiercely,

“You can’t scare me like that, you asshole, you can’t make me think I’m going to lose you again…”

Oromë shook his head, his face still pressed to Celegorm’s neck. Celegorm tightened his fingers in Oromë’s hair.

“We’re gonna get through this together, okay? It’s not as bad as it looks. It’s not gonna be the end of the world. But don’t push me away, motherfucker, don’t you dare decide you know what’s best for me. _You’re_ what’s best for me, all right? I decided that a long time ago. And hey, jackass,” he tugged Oromë’s hair until Oromë lifted his head and he could look him in the eye. “ _Never_ stop me from telling you I love you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2\. My dad had a patient turn into a tiger in his waiting room. He didn't eat anyone, though.


	32. Drown the unease

On most nights, Oromë, long used to being the only one in his bed, would end up turning away from Celegorm in the night, rolling over on his side to face the wall. Celegorm would promptly follow him, draping himself over Oromë’s back like a limpet, wrapping his arms around Oromë’s chest and nuzzling against the back of Oromë’s neck.

_“Oof. Tyelko, you’re like a furnace.”_

_“Can’t help that I’m so damn hot.”_

_“Yes. That is accurate. With you around, I don’t even need a blanket.”_

But this night, Oromë took Celegorm into his arms and curled around him, holding him tightly all through the night, lips to Celegorm’s shoulder, hands pressing tight to his belly, his thighs, his chest.

Celegorm lay awake, listening to Oromë’s breathing, feeling those strong arms tighten reflexively around him in sleep, and all he could think was, _He’s holding on because he thinks he’s going to lose me._

They didn’t make love that night, and Celegorm bit back the sense of rejection, the dread of being unwanted coiling in his stomach. How many times had Oromë told him that even on nights when they didn’t have sex, he was still wanted, desired, and loved?

_“I can’t always keep up with you, Tyelko, but it never means I don’t want you.”_

_“If you want me, how can you not want to fuck me?”_

_“There’s more than one way of being intimate.”_

_“Yeah, well, I suggested another way of being intimate in the shower and you said you didn’t think the shower rod would support my weight.”_

_“Not what I meant, Tyelko.”_

 

-

 

Celegorm didn’t fall asleep until just before dawn. When he woke, late in the morning, the bed was empty and there was a note on the pillow next to him.

_Had to go to campus to deal with some logistical issues that came up. Will probably be there all day. Go ahead and do your own thing, I’ll call tonight._

_Love you._

_O._

Celegorm sat up, scrubbing his hand through his hair, heedless of how it stood up all over his head, trying not to feel like he had been gently dismissed.

_Go do your own thing._

“He didn’t mean anything by it,” he told Huan, who was resting his chin on the side of the bed. When Oromë was around, dogs were strictly forbidden from the bed, but both Huan and Nahar knew Celegorm was a soft touch. Celegorm reached out to scratch Huan’s ears. “He’s just got work. He knows I’ve probably got shit to do, too. Right?”

Huan lifted his eyebrows pleadingly, and Celegorm grinned. “Fine, but don’t tell.”

With a delighted yelp, Huan leapt onto the bed and rooted around happily in the blankets.

“Enjoy it while you can,” said Celegorm, swinging his feet to the floor. “We’re heading home soon as I get dressed. After all,” he grabbed his shirt from the floor, trying not to feel bitter, “I’m gonna go ‘do my own thing’.” He stared down at his clothes and groaned. “Oh, good, all I’ve got is the shit I wore last night.” Reluctantly he pulled on his dress pants and button-up shirt, though he let it hang open over his chest. “This doesn’t scream ‘morning after’ or anything.”

Huan made a little grumbling noise in his throat as he rolled around happily on the bed, and Celegorm regarded him, hands on his hips. “Sometimes I think you don’t listen to a word I say, you filthy dogwaffle.”

He slung his jacket over his shoulder and picked up the note Oromë had left, smoothing it out as he read it one more time. Then he tore it in two, dropping the top half into the wastebasket and tucking the bottom half carefully into his breast pocket. That done, he whistled for Huan. “C’mon, boy.”

 

_\----_

 

Curufin hadn’t gotten much sleep. Not that this was unusual; he always slept lightly and was invariably woken by the creak of the floorboards in the hallway as his brothers passed his room on their way to the bathroom, or by the dull thud of bass from a neighbor’s party. But tonight’s restlessness was irritatingly familiar as he kept pushing himself upright in bed to check his phone and see if Celegorm had responded.

He hadn’t.

That would have been annoying enough, but then….There was the other person who had been texting him, of late. The other reason his brain was buzzing like an overactive hive of bees.

Now, despite staying in bed all morning, he was grumpy and bleary-eyed and resigned to the fact that he wasn’t going to get any sleep after all. Curufin sat up in bed and flicked through his phone, scrolling through the messages from the past week.

He’d sent the first one. He wasn’t sure why; it was very unlike him.

 

-

_I’ll give you this much. You were very fast out the window._

_Thank you._

_Makalaure didn’t see anything?_

_No. Too busy dropping things._

_I hope you helped him, at least._

_Of course. I am nothing if not a helpful brother._

_…no comment._

_Rude._

 

There had been silence, after that, for a full day. And then, surprising him out of the work he’d been doing at his desk, the buzz of his phone.

 

_Open your window while you’re working on that contraption._

_How do you know I’m working on any contraption?_

_Educated guess._

_I guess four years of college and two years of grad school have given you…the barest deductive skills._

_Rude._

 

He’d smiled at that, despite himself, and gone back to his work.

The next day, Finrod had texted again.

 

_Should we talk?_

_We can talk about any number of things. What in particular?_

_You know._

_This is very sixth grade of you._

_You’d rather I not try to talk about this?_

_What is there to say?_

 

An hour elapsed.

 

_Do you want it to happen again?_

_Do you?_

_I asked first._

_VERY sixth grade._

_You’re impossible._

_I’ve heard._

_I’m still waiting for your answer._

 

Another hour. 

_Still…_

 

And another.

_Curvo_

 

He’d cast his eyes down at his phone, tempted to let it buzz a few more times. But his usual self-control was failing him.

  

_Yes._

_Yes?_

_Yes._

_To my question?_

_What else?_

 

Finrod didn’t respond right away to that, and Curufin had waited, nearly burning himself when he pinched two wires together without really thinking about what he was doing. When his phone finally lit up with a response, he’d grabbed for it, ignoring the sting of his fingertips.

 

_Okay_

He bit his tongue, impatient.

 

_What’s YOUR answer?_

_It’s the same as yours._

 

Heart pounding rather hard, Curufin had laid the phone down. Then, deliberately, he’d shut it off, and buried himself in work. Some part of him wanted desperately to talk everything over with Celegorm, but the rest of him rebelled.

_He wouldn’t like it. He doesn’t trust Findaráto._

_Do_ I _trust Findaráto?_

Still, he’d wandered aimlessly through the house, half looking for Celegorm and half trying to pace the tumult of his thoughts into the floorboards, to grind the flickering anxiety under his heel and leave it behind him in the dust.

He’d found Celegorm, eventually, with Maglor.

And Caranthir.

Suddenly, his desire to share anything had quite evaporated.

Celegorm had left for the evening, and Curufin had heard no more until the SOS came, around 9 o’clock.

 _Follow-up on your idiot shenanigans, why don’t you?_  he demanded of his absent brother, now. _And follow up on_ me _._

 

He jerked upright as he heard the door downstairs open, and waited, holding his breath, for the familiar tread on the stairs. He heard Celegorm’s footsteps come up the stairs, then pass by Curufin’s door on the way to his own room.

“Tyelko!” he hissed. The doors were notoriously thin, surely he’d hear.

The footsteps paused, then turned. Slowly, Celegorm pushed the door open. “Curvo?”

“Obviously.” Curufin crossed his arms and glared at his brother. “I’m glad you can answer in person, even if you have some objection to answering by text.”

Celegorm winced and raised his hand to his head. “Ahh. Sorry. I meant to reply, but-”

“But doubtless some other dramatic interlude was taking place.”

“Kinda.”

Celegorm crossed the room and sat down on the foot of Curufin’s bed. Curufin examined him.

“What are you _wearing_?”

“My clothes from last night.”

“Why?”

Celegorm rolled his eyes. “Because they’re what I was wearing when I went over there?”

“You don’t keep spare clothes at Oromë’s house? Hmm.”

Celegorm shot Curufin a deeply unamused look. “Knock it off.”

“Knock what off?”

“You’re doing that thing. That planting seeds of doubt thing. Don’t even pretend with me, Curvo, I _know you_ and I’ve seen you do it before. You almost got Findekáno to stop talking to Maitimo for a month last year with your little ‘Nelyo and commitment’ bit.”

Curufin widened his eyes and opened his mouth to protest, but stopped, dropping the look of aggrieved innocence, and sighed. “Fine. Force of habit.”

“No shit. As if I didn’t feel like my relationship was on thin ice enough, what with nearly getting outed to mom and dad last night…”

“Yes, let’s talk about that.” Curufin tossed back the covers and got out of bed, padding over to the dresser to grab a sweater from his bottom drawer and pull some socks on. “What on earth were you thinking?”

“I was thinking, hey, going on a date with the guy I’m dating, what a fuckin’ novelty. Almost like what normal people do.”

“You aren’t normal people.” Curufin pulled the sweater over his head.

“Thanks, bud.”

“I mean your relationship isn’t exactly the norm, and therefore you can’t assume that you can just waltz blithely around like everyone else. Who was _planning_ this thing?” Curufin gave Celegorm an accusatory look.

“Vána and Nienna, I dunno! It wasn’t a fuckin’ heist, Curvo, it was _dinner_.”

“If you’re going to treat your relationship like some covert action, then you have to be _better_ at it than this. So yes, for all intents and purposes, it _is_ like a heist.” Curufin’s sharp stare turned thoughtful, and he pushed up his sleeves. “You say his wife organized it? Hm. Now, if _I_ wanted you two to be found out, that would a clever way to do it…How certain are you that she’s not trying to sabotage you?”

Celegorm groaned. “Oh my god, you are the most paranoid little shit. Just because that’s what _you_ would do…”

“What is that? 30% certain? 25%?”

“I am _positive_ she’s not trying to sabotage us. She has a _girlfriend_ , Curvo, she’s Oromë’s _friend_ , she doesn’t have any reason to break us up.”

“Maybe not,” said Curufin, a little disappointed. That would have been a far more interesting track to take. “In that case, base incompetence it is. What a waste.”

“What are the odds that dad would show up there?”

Curufin gazed at him pityingly. “This is the town our father lives in. It is the best restaurant in the area. Our father has impeccable taste. Our parents go out to eat on weekends. It was a Saturday night. You do the math.”

“But – ”

“The real question, honestly, is how you ended up in such a nice place.” Curufin curled his lip. “You look like a stripper in a secondhand suit.”

Celegorm looked down at himself. “I look awesome, and thanks for the compliment.”

“It wasn’t intended as such.”

“I know it wasn’t, assface.”

“Oh, now I see why they let you in. It was for your manners and gracious way of speaking.”

“ _God_ , Curvo, why do I even bother coming to you?”

“Because you’re doomed without me, you simpleton.” Curufin sighed. “At any rate, I trust you escaped unscathed.”

“Yeah, we got out fine.” Celegorm looked at his hands. “Managed not to break up, either, so…”

Curufin’s eyes narrowed. “He was going to break up with you?”

“What?” said Celegorm absently. “No. Hey, did you need to talk about something? I thought you sounded kind of…”

“Sounded? We didn’t speak.”

“Well, your text…”

“As impressive as your decoding skills are, you must have misread that one.”

Celegorm scrutinized him, and Curufin turned away, going to his desk and opening his laptop.

“You sure you don’t have something you need to talk about?”

Curufin stared at his computer screen as if absorbed, but he wasn’t taking any of it in. His phone buzzed on the bedside table, and he managed not to flinch, or look over his shoulder – it would only draw Celegorm’s attention to who might be texting him.

“Curvo?”

“No,” said Curufin. “There’s nothing.” He immersed himself in email then, until Celegorm got bored and let out a long sigh behind him. Curufin heard him drop back on the bed with a groan.

“I need a drink.”

“It’s not even noon.”

“I still need a drink. No, fuck, I need to get high. Where’s Moryo?”

Curufin shook his head, but his scorn was only perfunctory. Despite waiting all night for Celegorm to get home, the only thing he wanted now was for Celegorm to leave, so he could check his phone.

_And let it be who I hope it is._

 

\----

 

“This is better than the stuff you usually get.” Celegorm exhaled and looked appreciatively at the joint in his hand.

“Yeah, I got a deal.” Caranthir leaned forward to blow a stream of smoke out the open window and shook his head. “Way too good to waste on the idiot freshmen who buy from me.”

“But just lousy enough to waste on me, eh?” said Celegorm lazily. “I appreciate it, bro.”

“Yeah, well, don’t think you don’t owe me.”

“Not this again.” Celegorm took another hit and put his feet up on Caranthir’s desk. “Family is about _sharing_. Are you high yet?”

Caranthir rolled his eyes. “I am literally getting high with you as we speak; what kind of stupid-ass question is that?”

“I was waiting for your inhibitions to be lowered.”

“Oh, god.”

“So I could ask you prying questions.”

“You ask me prying questions all the time, dickhead.”

“Yeah, but maybe now you’ll answer them.”

Caranthir pulled his wool hat down low over his eyes – it was quite cold in his room, with the window open. “…Fine.”

Celegorm grinned. “Excellent. Now tell me what Findaráto is like in bed.”

“No.”

Celegorm sputtered indignantly. “You just – What – You _said_ you’d answer me!”

“I lied. Why do you even _care_?”

“Look, you’re the only other interesting person I can talk to about this shit! Maitimo’s basically married, and boring; Curvo is a virgin who would set me on fire if I tried to talk about this with him; the twins are babies who should _never_ have sex; and even though Makalaurë gets loads of pussy he’ll never tell me any good stories.” Celegorm scowled, looking peeved. “Honestly. But now you’re banging Findaráto, who’s frankly beyond hot, and I want the gory details, you son of a bitch.”

Caranthir took a drag of the joint, holding the smoke in his lungs a long time before he let out a breath, and said, “What do you wanna know?”

Celegorm crossed his legs and steepled his fingers. If it hadn’t been for the joint dangling from his lips, he’d have looked like he was conducting a job interview. “What’s he _like_?”

“Uh…unexpected.”

“Wazzat mean?”

Caranthir made a face, still embarrassed. “He…he likes…I think he _likes_ the sneaking around bit. Or the getting caught bit. I think. He gets even more into it when we have to be quiet ‘cos people are around, which makes me think…I’unno. ”

“Yeah, called it. He’s an exhibitionist.” Celegorm tipped back in his chair, thinking. “Did he cheat on Amarië with people other than you?”

Caranthir shrugged. “We don’t talk about that stuff. Maybe?”

“I bet he did.”

“He likes…public stuff, too.”

Celegorm tipped forward again, the legs of his chair coming down with a bang. Caranthir flinched but Celegorm just leaned forward, agog. “Like _what_?”

“Like…doin’ stuff in the car, and his office on campus and shit.”

“Oh _man_. I am so proud of you. Following in my footsteps…Though gross, dude, I drive that car. Where’d you do it?”

“Side of Route 3.”

“Are you fucking KIDDING me?”

“Just oral stuff, not full-blown sex…”

“He gave you head on the side of the _highway_?”

“It was raining…”

“DAMN.” Celegorm paused, shaking his head. “Ok, well, this is the best time I’ve ever had getting high.”

Caranthir let his head tip back over the back of his chair. “D’you smoke with Oromë?”

Celegorm looked away, his delight fading slightly. “Naw, you kidding? He hates weed. Pretty sure he hates that I smoke at all, but he doesn’t say anything…”

“Would you quit for him?” Caranthir watched Celegorm intently.

Celegorm shrugged, still not looking at him. “Maybe if he asked me to.”

“Huh.”

Celegorm took another hit and switched back into his teasing, jocular tone. “Enough about me, back to you. And your sex life. Are you always on top?”

“What? Jesus, Tyelko.”

“Basic sex question, bro.”

“I mean…I dunno, it varies. Like. Sometimes he’s on top of me…” Caranthir’s ears were very red.

“No, _dude_ , I mean – Are you ever the one on the receiving end, y’know?”

“Oh. No.”

Celegorm _tsk_ ed. “Missing out.”

“It’s just how we always end up – I don’t even know if I want – It sounds…”

Celegorm watched, fascinated, as his brother groaned and pulled his hat even lower over his face.

“What’s it like…uh…” Caranthir squirmed. “…being on the receiving end, anyway?”

“Fucking amazing,” said Celegorm bluntly. “Give it a shot, yo.”

“Doesn’t it hurt?”

Celegorm rolled his eyes. “Do you think it hurts Findaráto every time you fuck him? Do you, like, not warm up at all first? Do you just dive right in?”

“No! I mean. Sometimes he wants me to move faster and not use as much – Um. But it doesn’t seem like I hurt him.”

“Right. It doesn’t have to hurt. Your first time, maybe it’ll be a bit uncomfortable, but go slow and if he knows what he’s doing…”

“Did you go slow your first time?”

“Fuck, no.” Celegorm looked reminiscent. “I was impatient as hell and probably would have damaged myself if Oromë hadn’t forced me to slow down. And I still walked with a limp all week.”

Caranthir looked a little horrified. “Yeah. Uh, your boyfriend…is all of him that big?”

“Better believe it, boy.”

“Aah.” Caranthir scrunched up his face. “That sounds painful.”

“Not if you do it right. And I bet Findaráto isn’t hung like Oromë is, anyway. I mean, is he?” Celegorm leaned forward on his knees. “Is Findaráto secretly packing?”

“Ok, now we’re done,” said Caranthir firmly. “Jesus. Where’s my joint?”

 

He was just reaching for the ashtray when the door banged open and they both leapt in their chairs. Celegorm swore loudly, and Caranthir slipped sideways and dropped his hat.

A slight figure wearing enormous boots and a bulky down vest was standing in the doorway, eyes snapping furiously under her brimmed cap. The impact of her fierce expression was slightly lessened as she drew up short and scrunched up her face. “It smells like a skunk’s ass in here.”

“Haleth!” Caranthir sat up with an effort, staring. “What. What are you doing here?”

“I came to talk to you.” Haleth looked around. “Oh, _weed_.” She grabbed Caranthir’s joint from the ashtray and took a long drag. “That’s going to help.”

“Hey! You…you can’t just barge in without knocking,” said Caranthir, still several steps behind. “I could have been doing anything in here.”

“Like what?”

“Eheheh,” said Celegorm, and scooted down in his chair as they both looked at him, Caranthir with a warning glint in his eyes. “Hum. Say, the grain of this wood is _wild_ …”

Haleth turned back to Caranthir, hands on her hips. “I came to _talk_ to you. You have been being so _weird_ to me lately.”

Caranthir looked like he was pulling himself together with an effort. “I have not.”

“You HAVE.” Haleth exhaled impatiently. “You’re pretending like nothing happened, but you’re also avoiding me and not answering my texts – Have you forgotten we’re supposed to be working on our term project, jackass? We’re two weeks behind already. We need to talk about what’s going on, okay? I know it’s really weird for you that I’m dating your aunt, and I totally get that. But I don’t do this avoidance thing!”

“Yeah, apparently, or you would have _avoided_ dating my aunt in the first place.”

Haleth set her jaw, looking grimly determined. “And...okay, I know you liked me, too, and all that...”

Caranthir glowered. “Picked up on that, did you?”

“Oh, the five _million_ times you sort-of-not-really-but-totally-did ask me out kinda tipped me off.” Haleth stomped over and heaved herself up on the desk in front of Caranthir so he couldn’t look away from her. “I said no. Why didn’t you hear me?”

“I did hear you! I stopped asking, didn’t I?”

“But you didn’t move the fuck on. I told you no for the first time _last year_ and you still thought you had a chance. You wouldn’t just be normal around me because you kept thinking, ‘Oh, she’ll come around eventually, she’ll realize I’m right, and then–’ ”

“Yeah,” said Caranthir loudly. “Yeah, maybe I did think that. Why shouldn’t I? We get along, we have a good time, don’t we? We’re good friends, why wouldn’t we – ”

“Good friends does NOT necessarily mean we’d make a good couple.” Haleth kicked out with her heavy boots and Caranthir hastily backed up. “You know we’d make a _terrible_ couple, right? Me and you?”

“No, we wouldn’t,” said Caranthir stubbornly.

“I dunno,” said Celegorm. “I’m kinda with Haleth on this one.”

They both rounded on him. “NO ONE ASKED YOU!”

“Whoa.” Celegorm looked at the joint in his hand. “That was eerie. You two. Like those little girls in _The Shining._ Talking in unison like that. Union? Unson? How do words…”

They both turned away, disgusted, and Haleth glared at Caranthir again. “Why can’t you get this through your thick head? I can like you as a person and not want to date you, or fuck you, and you have to accept that already!”

“If we’re such good friends why didn’t you tell me about Lalwen?” demanded Caranthir. “Why did you let me find out like that? Fuck, do you know what that felt like? You should have just TOLD me!”

“Yes, I should have!” Haleth yelled.

Caranthir looked taken aback.

Haleth gritted her teeth. “And if you’d bothered to let me talk to you over the past couple weeks, I could have _apologized_ about that and told you that I felt shitty about hiding from you and I should have been straightforward from the beginning.”

“…Really?

“Yes, really, doofus. I should have told you. You shouldn’t have had to find out like that.”

Caranthir looked down. “…Oh.”

“But instead you were a moody tool and I had to hunt you down and barge into your room, where you could have been doing anything, _gross_ , and…and smoke your weed…and yell at you…and your dumb brother is here…” She broke off feebly.

Caranthir’s lips twitched.

Haleth made a choked noise.

Caranthir looked up at her and wrinkled his nose. “You _had_ to smoke my weed?”

“It helped with the yelling,” said Haleth, then slipped down to the floor and started to laugh helplessly. “…I think it only just kicked in.”

Caranthir slid out of his chair and sat across from her on the floor, his long legs stretched out in front of him. “Oh, thank god. I’ve been fighting my high since you came in. D’you know how scary it is to get yelled at by someone in combat boots when you’re stoned?”

“You did pretty good,” said Haleth, and picked his hat up off the ground to throw at his face. “Are we okay, you giant turnip?”

Caranthir tugged the hat back over his rumpled hair. “Turnip?”

“It made sense in my head.”

“Have you two just forgotten I’m here?” Celegorm slouched down in his chair, arms folded over his chest. “Or am I invisible?” He looked briefly pensive. “Have I been invisible all this time?”

“Oh my god,” said Haleth, and put her head onto her knees.

 

-

 

Some time later Haleth gave a groan and pushed herself to her feet, kicking an empty bag of Doritos out of the way. “All right. I think I’m…sober enough to walk home now.”

“You sure?” Caranthir was lying on his back on the floor, making a cat’s cradle out of some yarn he’d found under the bed.

“Yeah. Hey, I’m planning on going for a hike on Friday. Wanna come? I was thinking I’d go to that open mic thing after, I know a couple of people who are going…”

“Oh, yeah.” Caranthir got tangled in his cat’s cradle and tugged helplessly for a minute before dropping his hands to his stomach, defeated. “Makalaurë’s gonna be performing at that.”

“Oh, duh, ‘course he is. Yeah, me ‘n’ Andreth are going to go.” She frowned. “Hey, is Aegnor going to be there? Or his brother?”

“Why would I know that?” said Caranthir, quickly.

“Uh. Because they’re your cousins? And friends? I just know Andreth isn’t super thrilled with either of them these days, but…whatever, if they’re there she’ll get over it. Let’s talk this week – also about our project, dude, we are so far behind – and we can work out the details. Nice seeing you, Celegorm. I guess.” She stepped over Celegorm, who was propped against the wall, fiddling with his phone.

“What? Oh, yeah. Good theater, you two. I’ve never had such a good show…”

“Shut up.” Haleth pulled the door open. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Caranthir.”

As the door closed behind her, Caranthir freed his fingers from the cat’s cradle at last and sat up. “Okay. Now _you_ get out of my room.”

“Mm. You planning on making a call?”

“What?”

“Or do you just text him?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re gonna booty call Findaráto now,” said Celegorm knowingly, standing up too. “You just had a real, human, emotional interaction with the girl you’re still trying to get over, and so now you’re totally going to get it out of your system by giving Ingo a good, deep – ”

“ _Leave_.”

“Leaving…”

 

\---

 

The light was failing when Finrod slipped through the door, already loosening his scarf. The house was quiet; its residents all in their respective rooms. Finrod hung up his jacket by the door and started across the living room towards Caranthir’s room, walking on light feet. He paused just once to glance up the stairs, and as he did, his phone pinged lightly with a text.

_Are you here?_

Finrod looked at Caranthir’s closed door, then back down at his phone.

_Yes._

_Come upstairs when he’s asleep._

Finrod took a long, even breath, a familiar electricity shivering through him as he looked up the stairs. Then he slid his phone back into his pocket and made his way to Caranthir’s room, turning off the lights as he went.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Next week I won’t post a chapter, as I’m going to be traveling for work. However, I DO have a DWMP ‘verse fic to post, a terribly smutty one. So expect that next Thursday, instead of a new chapter. The Thursday after that is Christmas, I believe, so I’ll just have to play by ear when the next chapter goes up, but I have all the ideas and material I need for it. All I require is the time to write it…


	33. She's a ten, I'm a joke in my own mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (But she still loves to dance with my punchlines)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Happy New Year, everyone! (I meant to post this at midnight exactly, like I usually do, but I'm gonna be drinking and kissing things at midnight, so you get a slightly early update.)  
> I wrote a similar message on Tumblr, but I just want to reiterate how much I love and appreciate you all. This fandom in general has been such a wonderful part of my year, but on a smaller scale, the reception DWMP has gotten has blown my socks off. I never expected this to turn into anything much, let alone something so many people would read and comment on and even do art for, and it makes me happy to have you every goddamn day. Thanks for bearing with me through the weak or wacky chapters, enduring waits for updates (like, ah, this past month…appreciate your patience), and for exploring this AU with me. Cripes, that’s so trite sounding. But I mean it. Reiterating once again that I love every comment or message I get, and you should all feel free to hit me up on [Tumblr](imindhowwelayinjune.tumblr.com), and also, always let me know if you have questions or I miss the mark or otherwise blow it in some way. (Like, don’t send me Howlers, if you can help it, but I will ALWAYS take thoughtful comments and questions and critiques very, very seriously. And gratefully. I will also chatter about inane shit or my headcanons for characters’ underpants or whatever for literally days, so feel free to lob that sorta thing at me too.)

Finrod slipped back into bed beside Caranthir, who was breathing deep and slow, fast asleep like he’d left him. Finrod curled under the blankets and closed his eyes, but memories flickered so fast beneath his eyelids it was almost more distracting than keeping them open.

 

_How wide Curufin’s pupils had been, so large that his eyes were almost black instead of grey. The quick gasps of his breath and those blown-dark eyes the only sign of his nerves – his hands were quite steady._

_“We don’t have to do anything. I can just sit with you, we can talk – ”_

_“No. I want to.”_

 

Finrod shivered, even under the blankets, and rolled over, unconsciously seeking the heat of Caranthir’s body. Caranthir sighed in his sleep and draped an arm over Finrod’s waist, nuzzling into Finrod’s neck. Finrod felt desire ghost through him – again – and bit his tongue against it. _There is something so wrong with you_.

 

_They’d tumbled together on Curufin’s bed, kissing hard – every time Finrod would attempt gentleness, Curufin would bite at him until he pressed forward more fiercely. There was something almost angry in the way Curufin kissed him. It felt, as it had before, like a challenge, and Finrod wasn’t sure he was the one being challenged._

He’s daring himself to go further.

_But it was hard to resist that challenge, to leave it unanswered. And so he wound his arms around Curufin’s waist, pulling him close, tangling their legs together._

_At that, though, Curufin had flinched back, and Finrod realized at once it had been because of the brush of their groins together – the press of Finrod’s obvious arousal. He’d angled himself away immediately and backed off, laying almost chaste kisses to Curufin’s lips._

_Finally, he’d murmured. “I’d like to touch you, if you want it. But_ only _if you want it.  Do you?”_

_Curufin had shivered then, in his arms. “No.”_

 

Finrod pressed his palms to his hot face.

 

_Finrod had eventually pulled back altogether, sitting up on the bed and folding his legs in front of him. “Let’s slow down, okay?”_

_Curufin had looked up at him, a wary, defensive look on his face. “Why?”_

_“Because there’s no rush. And Curvo,” he’d said it with intent, keeping himself removed from Curufin, making sure he wasn’t touching him at all, “I want you to know that I will never, ever touch you unless you want it. Unless you ask for it. You can tell me to stop, okay? Anytime. And I’m not going to – ”_

_“Stop babying me,” snarled Curufin, and there was a flush on his cheeks. Finrod blinked. Curufin had momentarily looked very much like Caranthir. “If you want to stop, just say_ you _want to stop. Don’t put it on me.”_

_“I’m just letting you know,” said Finrod softly._

_“Fine.” Curufin sat up, yanking his shirt down where it had gotten rucked up over his stomach. “Got it. I think you should go, now.”_

_“If you want me to.”_

_“Yeah. I do.”_

 

Finrod turned over, burying his face against Caranthir’s shoulder. Being around Curufin made his brain burn hot. _So many questions, so many layers, so much to sort through – such exhilaration._ But it was not…soothing.

It was inflaming.

He had always loved to read. Books could set his mind on fire, but people – people were even better than books. He loved to read their needs and wants and desires, and sometimes, the only time he felt truly happy was when he was fulfilling them.

Curufin was a page-turner, if not a mystery.

It was his own mind he couldn’t fathom.

 _What are you doing? Why are you doing it?_  

Caranthir murmured in his sleep and pulled Finrod closer. Finrod closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of Caranthir’s skin, something that had somehow become familiar and comforting in the past month.

 _What is_ wrong _with you?_

Finrod flinched as Turgon’s words echoed through his memory. He pressed his lips to Caranthir’s skin, and remembered the taste of Curufin’s mouth.

He wished he knew the answer.

 

\----

 

Caranthir groaned. “I am so sore.”

“I told you you didn’t have to try to keep up.”

“I should have had an advantage. Why didn’t I have an advantage?”

“What advantage would that be?”

“I’m…bigger than you.”

“Oh, _good_. That’s always an indicator of things like stamina.”

“I just mean, like, if we’re talking inches alone, you’re about…”

“Size isn’t everything, kid.”

Caranthir scowled, rubbing resentfully at his calves as Haleth stuck her tongue out at him. “For someone who’s about the height of one of my legs…”

“Yes, I know, I kicked your ass, it was embarrassing. You should get out more often. Get off your butt and actually do something physical, you know?”

“Like more of that hiking? No, thanks.” Caranthir tried to stretch his legs out, grimacing horribly. “I dunno _what_ people like you and Tyelko see in it.”

“You didn’t like the view at the end? We could see three states from up there.”

“I wasn’t counting,” muttered Caranthir. “I was too busy hyperventilating and picking ice out of my socks.”

“Aw, pumpkin.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Haleth drummed her fingers on the table and looked around. The lights at Cuiviénen had been dimmed for its monthly Open Mic night. The café was still serving tea and coffee, but most patrons had switched to beer and wine, and a stage had been set up at the far end of the café, complete with a curtained off backstage for performers to drop their set lists.

“It’s a pretty decent set-up they do here, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Makalaurë had a lot to do with that,” said Caranthir, giving up on his sore legs and tipping back in his chair. “He said that a stool and a microphone was not enough if he was going to be performing for free. He got a friend of his to rig a soundboard and everything, and setting up the backstage area was his idea too. He says he needs a place to ‘find his zen’ before a performance.”

“Moryo, your brother…”

“Yeah, he’s the worst.”

Haleth grinned and got up. “I’m going to get a beer. I’ll get you one, too.”

“I’m just gonna stick with chai, I think.”

“I meant I’m going to get two beers and pretend one is for you but really drink both of them.” Haleth swung her hips and sauntered off. “I beat your ass up a mountain today, I deserve all the beer.”

 

-

 

Soon Cuiviénen was crowded with people and one of the first musicians was warbling into the microphone. Maglor had appeared briefly, wearing a cuffed sleeve tee shirt and a look of distraction before vanishing almost immediately to talk to a tall, handsome boy with cropped black hair and a flute case. Caranthir looked up as someone tapped him on the shoulder, expecting Maedhros. Instead it was Turgon, who dropped into the seat next to him without preamble.

“I had to escape. This is the open mic thing, right? Whatever, it doesn’t matter. It’s not refreshing the page where my grades are posted over and over. It could be dog fighting and I’d take it over waiting to see what I got in epidemiology.”

“Don’t let Tyelko hear you say that.” Caranthir pushed his muffin over to Turgon, who was pale and exhausted and looked vaguely malnourished. “Looks like the end of the semester fucked you hard.”

Turgon moaned and laid his head down on the table. “It’ll be over someday,” he said, his voice muffled. “Right? That’s what I keep telling myself.”

Haleth, who was already on her third beer and getting tipsy, reached down to ruffle up his curls and then leaned her head down so that they could make eye contact. She adopted a look of intense focus; Turgon looked alarmed. “Turno. No. You CANNOT let it win. The schooly thing. Soon you’ll be a _doctor_ of the _medicine_ and everything will be worth it. Doctor Turno. And…” Her razor focus drifted, and she blinked, trying to drag back her train of thought. “…and you’ll write books for children, with rhyming words, and they’ll learn all about…phonemes… _whoops_.” She slipped sideways off her chair and Caranthir caught her and hauled her upright again.

“Are you confusing regular doctors with Doctor Seuss?”

“Definitely not. How dare you. Maybe?” Haleth shook her head decisively, and pointed. “Look! Friends!”

Amarië and Andreth were heading over to their table, holding steaming mugs. Haleth spread her arms wide.

“Hah! It’s the Arafinwion brothers avoidance crew!”

“Ha ha,” said Andreth, while Amarië turned pink.

“I’m going to get something to drink,” said Caranthir quickly, as Amarië’s eyes fell on him, and he beat a hasty retreat.

By the time he’d made it through the line for drinks, he spared a glance back at the

table and headed off in the opposite direction. Turgon and Amarië were sitting close together, absorbed in conversation, and Andreth was laughing at Haleth’s antics. They wouldn’t notice his absence – and if they did, Amarië at least would probably appreciate it. Certainly Caranthir had no desire to force that particular confrontation. He found an empty table and collapsed into one of the chairs, trying not to yawn as yet another musician took the stage.

 

-

 

He straightened up in his seat when finally, around 11, Maglor came onto the stage, guitar in hand and his dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. As soon as he started to play, a total silence fell over the coffee shop – a silence so complete that Caranthir could hear how Maglor’s voice reverberated off the copper mugs hanging over the bar.

This meant that when someone gave a low hum at his shoulder, he started, knocking his knees painfully against the table.  There was a dark haired girl sitting at the otherwise empty table with him. He had no idea how long she’d been there, but she looked totally comfortable sitting beside him.

“He’s not bad, huh?” The girl was leaning back in her chair, arms folded, her feet, in knee-high boots, propped on the chair opposite her. She was watching Maglor with interest as he sang.

“He’s brilliant,” said Caranthir tersely.

She glanced over, at his tone. “Do you know him?”

“He’s my brother.”

“Oh.” She studied him, then turned back to Maglor. “His voice is very familiar. Was he part of a band a couple years back…”

“Yes.”

“…Daeron’s group, right?”

Caranthir’s eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

“Why don’t they perform anymore?” The girl didn’t seem to be at all put off by his monosyllabic answers.

“Daeron got a record deal. Alone.”

“Ah.” The girl nodded slowly. “Well. Looks like the record label missed out on the real talent of the group, didn’t they?” Smiling slightly, she got up, pushing back her chair. “I gotta go get ready for my set. Tell your brother he knows his stuff.”

Caranthir frowned after her, but he was distracted as a tall figure sat down next to him.

“ _There_ you are. I expected you to be with Haleth and that crew.” Maedhros sat down with a sigh, wincing as he tried to fit his long legs under the wobbly table. “You don’t think Káno noticed I got here late, do you?”

“You know he doesn’t notice a thing when he’s singing,” said Caranthir.

“Is he doing covers tonight, or some of that stuff he was working on all fall?”

“Mostly new material, I think. This one sounds like that one we were all humming all over the fucking house and getting so annoyed at him because we couldn’t get it out of our heads.”

“Oh, _yeah_.” Maedhros held still, listening. “…it really changes when it’s not him just singing it in the shower, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah. Helps that it’s not interspersed with him yelling shit like ‘the cunting thing won’t SCAN’ between verses.”

“Shhh!” hissed someone from a nearby table.

Caranthir and Maedhros subsided guiltily. They knew how much Maglor hated interruptions during his performance. Sure enough, his eyes had flickered in their direction, dangerously narrowed, before his face smoothed out once more into the transported expression that he wore – _or affected_ , Curufin sometimes whispered, cynically – when he performed.

They sat meekly quiet through the rest of Maglor’s set, and when he finished, they applauded and whooped vigorously until Maglor turned red and shot a stifling look at them.

“We have to fill the void Tyelko left by not being here tonight,” said Maedhros, by way of explanation, when Maglor made his way back to their table, scowling at them but looking secretly pleased. “You know he’d never let you through a performance without embarrassing you with excessive noise.”

“Yes, I thought that was one of the _benefits_ of having him not come,” said Maglor. “At least you aren’t throwing bottles at the other musicians.”

“Oh, right,” said Caranthir, looking around. “All I’ve got is this teacup, but Tyelko told me to aim for the pitchy ones…”

“Don’t even _think_ about it.” Maglor thought for a moment. “Though the guy who went before me should be _jailed_ for what he did to that Paul Simon cover, talk about _pitchy_ …” He pulled himself together. “But still, no throwing things.”

“Who’s up next? No one’s gonna be as good as you, anyway, we should just leave – ” Caranthir broke off. “Oh, hey, it’s that girl.”

“What girl?”

Caranthir pointed. The black-haired girl who had briefly sat beside him was settling herself on a stool, a guitar over her knees. She pushed up her sleeves, revealing several lines of text inked onto the inside of her forearm.

Maedhros looked sideways at Maglor. “You and she have similar taste in tattoos.”

Maglor raised his hand unconsciously to his bicep, where his tee shirt sleeves were turned up to reveal the six-line verse tattooed there. “…Yeah.”

Maedhros studied his rapt expression and started to say something, grinning, but Maglor raised his hand, not looking at him. “Hush. She’s starting.”

 

-

 

Fifteen minutes passed. Maglor hadn’t spoken since the dark-haired girl with the guitar had taken the stage. His eyes were fixed on her, his mouth slightly open. Caranthir accidentally on purpose overturned the dregs of Maedhros’ tea onto Maglor’s sleeve, and still Maglor didn’t twitch. It wasn’t until the song ended, and the musician was pausing to drink some water while the room whooped and clapped, that Maglor blinked and looked down at his wet sleeve.

“…What’s that all over me?”

“Welcome back,” said Maedhros.

“What?” said Maglor again. He frowned at Caranthir and Maedhros, who were smirking like twin Cheshire cats. “What’s wrong with you two?”

“Oh, nothing,” said Maedhros, innocently. “She’s good, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” said Maglor, turning back to the stage and blinking a little, as if staring into bright lights, despite the dimness of the room. “Yeah, she is.”

Caranthir sniggered, and Maglor jerked around.

“Okay, knock off – whatever it is you’re doing.”

“What?” said Caranthir, looking astonished. “I had some scone caught in my throat.” He coughed, unconvincingly.

Maedhros bit his lips to keep from laughing.

“I’m...I’m going backstage,” said Maglor, standing up and determinedly ignoring the muffled expressions of amusement on his brother’s faces. “I think I left…um, a cable back there.”

“Uh, huh.”

“Say hi to her for us.”

The singer’s last number was an old Celtic ballad, heartbreakingly mournful and piercing in its beauty. She sang it unaccompanied, her guitar at her feet, her low, resonant voice throbbing through the transfixed crowd and making a lump rise, unwittingly, in Maglor’s throat. He leaned against the wall just off-stage, watching as she sang the last verse. When she bent her head slightly, smiling, as Cuiviénen rang with applause and whistles, Maglor could see that her face was bright with tears.

“Here,” he said, as she came off stage, her guitar under her arm. He held out the spare bandana he kept in his instrument case. She looked, baffled, at his outstretched hand.

“Sorry?”

“You,” he gestured at her, embarrassed. “You’re crying.”

“Really?” The girl raised a hand to her face, looking surprised when her fingers came away wet. “Oh, so I am.” She shrugged, looking not at all concerned. “It happens sometimes. How silly.”

Maglor still held out the bandana. “Do you want - ?”

“You won’t want it back when I’m done,” said the girl. She smiled. “Especially if I blow my nose in it.”

“Don’t worry, you can just keep it. I have like half a dozen of them.”

“Well, then, thanks.” She took the bandana appreciatively and dabbed at her cheeks. “Oof. Much less soggy, thank you.”

Maglor couldn’t stop looking at her. “Listen, would you like – um, no first, what’s your na–  ?”

“Oh!” She was distracted as a tall, straight-backed figure came into view. “Hang on, sorry, I have to go – ” She squeezed Maglor’s arm once, apologetically and then, tucking the red bandana into her back pocket, crossed over to jump on the dark-haired boy waiting for her.

Maglor melted back into the crowd. He saw a familiar bright head and grabbed Glorfindel’s arm urgently. “Glorfindel!”

Glorfindel looked around. “Hey! Awesome job tonight. Was that some of your original material?”

Maglor wasn’t paying attention. “Listen, who’s that girl talking to Ecthelion?”

Glorfindel looked around. “Talking to Ecthelion? Oh, yeah. That’s Ríanellë. His sister.”

“He has a sister?” Maglor looked at the pair, who were talking closely, Ecthelion having shouldered Ríanellë’s guitar as she tied her shining dark hair back from her face, blowing her bangs out of her eyes as she did. “Oh, wow.”

Glorfindel was regarding him with sympathy. “Yes, she’s very good, isn’t she?”

“Yes.”

Glorfindel looked like he was undergoing some internal struggle. He laid a friendly arm over Maglor’s shoulders. “Look, Makalaurë, I should tell you…”

“What?”

“If you’re interested in Ríanellë…”

“I’m not,” said Maglor swiftly. “I mean. Not that there’s anything wrong with her. She’s very…she’s very gifted. And she’s certainly not. Un-pretty. And I would – well, anyone would – But I wouldn’t…Unless…Why, is she seeing someone?”

Glorfindel helpfully ignored this babbling and said, “No, she’s not seeing anyone. But if you’re interested, there’s something you should know.”

“What’s that?”

Glorfindel patted Maglor gently on the back. “She doesn’t date musicians.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I would like to thank the Valar and also Eru for Elleth, queen of amazing OFCs, master of a thousand tongues. I commissioned her, like, stone ages ago to craft an appropriate name for Ríanellë [Telerin; Garlanded singer]. And it has taken me this long to actually introduce the damn character. Thank you, love! Giving her a name was the first step in helping me get to know her, and from there to be able to write her. Cheers!


	34. Built with a brain and some swagger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I can't tell if you're laughing.

“Seriously? You have a _rule_ about this.”

“Yep.”

“That’s, like, bigoted.”

“You bet.”

It was two am, the alley behind Cuiviénen was freezing, and their breath hung heavy in the wan light cast by the backdoor lamp. Maglor thought for a while, mulling this exchange, and Ríanellë passed him back the clove they were sharing. He took a drag and exhaled while she watched him, patient and amused. “You don’t date musicians.”

“That is correct.”

“Don’t date _musicians_.”

“No, sir.”

Maglor threw up his arms. “You ARE a musician!”

“Yes. So I know what I’m talking about.”

Maglor cupped the cigarette in one hand while rubbing his eyes with the other. “This is crazy. Listen, don’t you think that two artists in the same medium could, like, inspire each other? Wouldn’t it be the ultimate creative...melding? Wouldn’t it be fertile ground for artistic collaboration? Wouldn’t two such artists understand each other like no one else c-”

“Nope.”

“You’re just going to dismiss it out of hand?”

“I’ve done my research.” Ríanellë leaned back on the step she was sitting on and twitched the cigarette from Maglor’s fingers. “Listen, in my foolish youth I did date musicians. I’m friends with musicians. I come from a _family_ of musicians; I am literally surrounded by them. And most importantly, I _am_ one, and I know the terrible, egomaniacal, insecure, competitive, angst-ridden bunch we are. Two of those in a relationship? Nooo, thank you.” She stubbed out the cigarette next to her and shifted her bottom on the step, wincing at the stiffness and pulling her scarf up over her nose.

“So they’re just out. Musicians are out of the running.”

“Out. Not gonna happen.”

“I still think it’s bigoted.”

Ríanellë nodded gravely. “It’s totally bigoted.”

“Hmm.” Maglor tucked his cold fingers into his armpits and rocked forward on the step meditatively. “…How do you feel about totally meaningless hook-ups with musicians in back alleys?”

Ríanellë tilted her head back to grin up at the light above them. “I believe I’ve shown that those I can get behind.”

“I think I missed it the first couple times. Once more so that it really sinks in?”

“Slow learner, aren’t you? Come here.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Tyelko. _Tyelko._ ”

“Nnh. Go away.”

“TURKAFINWË.” Curufin tugged at the blankets covering his brother, but Celegorm grabbed them and burrowed deeper into his bed.

“Seriously, go fuck yourself – ”

“Shan’t.”

“ – and let me sleep.”

“Won’t.” Curufin waited, but all that came from beneath the blankets was a light snore.  “Turko, c’mon – there’s a _girl_ in the house.”

“Hmwh?”

“A girl. In the house.”

Celegorm pulled the pillow over his head. “Just trap it under a glass and take it outside.”

Curufin kicked the side of the bed and Celegorm sat up, furious, and threw his pillow at Curufin’s head. “What is your dysfunction? I haven’t had a full night of sleep in a week, go _away_ before I rearrange your face.”

Curufin remained unflapped. “It’s not my fault you haven’t gotten any sleep; in fact, I’d wager it is the fault of a certain someone whose bed you seem to prefer to your own these days. I should hold him responsible for making your sleep habits _worse_ , if that's even possible. And there is a strange woman in our house. You’re not the least bit curious about who she is and why she’s here?”

Celegorm thought, then flopped back down. “Nope.” Then he half sat up again. “Is she clothed?”

Curufin made an exasperated noise. “Seriously?”

“It might affect my answer.”

Curufin pulled a face. “I don’t know. I just heard her voice.”

Celegorm groaned and threw back the covers. “ _Fine_ , I’ll go investigate.”

Curufin looked away, disgusted. “Put on some _clothes,_ you pervert. Don’t you own pajamas?”

“Pajamas cramp my style.” Celegorm stood up, unabashed, and grabbed a pair of pants from the piles on the floor. He tugged them on but didn’t bother with anything else, simply raking a hand through his hair, which these days fell almost past his shoulders. He grinned at Curufin, who was looking like he was regretting waking him. “Lead on, punk. Let’s see this fair maiden.”

“You’re going to flirt with her, aren’t you.”

“What gives you that idea?”

 

-

 

Ríanellë was poking around in the kitchen, wearing Maglor’s pajama pants – long in the leg and snug in the hip – and his old _Formenos Orchestra_ sweatshirt. Her hair was in a braid, but her bangs stuck up at an angle, and she kept trying to press them down with a distracted hand.

“I’m having some trouble finding the coffee,” she said, her back to them as she stood on tiptoe to peer in the cupboard. “Isn’t that typical? You need coffee in order to conscious enough to locate the coffee… Did you say it was – ” She turned. “Oh, you're not Maglor. Whoops.” She did a double take at Celegorm, half naked and lounging against the doorframe, his hair falling in his eyes. “ _Whoa_.”

Celegorm smiled. Curufin heaved a long-suffering sigh.

Ríanellë dragged her fascinated gaze away from Celegorm’s bare chest. “Um. Are you Maglor’s housemates?”

“Brothers, actually,” said Curufin, digging his elbow into Celegorm’s ribs. Celegorm was watching Ríanellë with interest.

“But I already met one of his – Oh gosh, there’s more of you?”

“Sister, you got no idea,” said Celegorm, grinning.

“It figures that I’ve never been good with names.” Ríanellë sighed and sat down at the table. “Can I just guess, instead? You’re, hmm, lessee, I’m gonna say something like…‘Thor’.”

“Hah. I’ll take it.”

“And then I’d say you’re a…”

“Curufin,” said Curufin, tersely.

“Curufin.” Ríanellë nodded. “Fair enough. I’m sorry to invade your kitchen like this, but Maglor mentioned there was something in the way of coffee down here…?” She trailed off hopefully.

“We’re all out.” Curufin folded his arms.

It was Celegorm’s turn to elbow his brother now. Curufin sighed again. “But I suppose we could run out and get some more.” Celegorm elbowed him again and Curufin scowled. “ _Yes_ , I know it was my job to restock the coffee. Stop _poking_ me, Tyelko.”

 

-

 

The two of them made their way down the street back from the corner store, kicking their way through half-melted piles of slush. Huan raced ahead of them, soaking wet and jubilant, sticking his face into puddles. Celegorm, who'd finally deigned to put on a shirt and jacket, was holding an umbrella and humming, and Curufin was looking moody. A good part of this might have been explained by the arm Celegorm had draped over his shoulders, and finally Curufin lost patience and squirmed free of Celegorm’s touch.

“Enough already. Do you have to hug me even as we walk, you touch-starved buffoon? Have the rules all just gone out the window?”

“I was trying to keep you dry under the umbrella,” said Celegorm, attempting to look wounded.

Curufin ducked out from under the umbrella and let the icy rain slick down his hair. “Dryness is not worth such proximity to you.”

Celegorm shrugged. “No skin off my ass. It’s _your_ double pneumonia. But speaking of proximity…”

“Makalaurë’s new bedmate?”

“No, actually. I’m talking about you.”

“I can assure you that I am not Makalaurë’s new bedmate.”

Celegorm made a repulsed face. “ _No_ , sicko, I mean your…uh, love life.”

“ _What_ love life?”

“Well, that’s what I wanna know.” Celegorm shifted the plastic bag he was carrying to his other hand, nearly dropping the umbrella in the process. “I realize I’ve been unintentionally respecting your dumb-ass wishes and not asking for follow-up on the whole Findaráto kiss thing.” His face darkened as he spoke Finrod’s name.

“Yes. I’d been most impressed with your unusual, and appreciated, restraint.”

“Yeah, it’s not gonna last, squirt. I just got distracted for a bit.” Celegorm stopped, and Curufin drew up short to keep from walking into him. They were a block from their house now and Huan was already circling in the yard, wondering why they had stopped moving. “Has he done it again?”

“Done what?”

Celegorm snorted. “Do you know how ridiculous you look playing dumb? You’re terrible at it. Has he made a _move_ again, Curvo. Is he still hitting on you?”

“Of course not.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“He hasn’t tried anything? Approached you, or – ”

“He apologized for the whole incident.” Curufin crossed his arms, rain running down the side of his face. He shook his head impatiently, sending droplets flying. “He was clearly in a post break-up, post-coital fugue, and did something idiotic. He didn’t mean it, I didn’t really want it, and that’s that.”

“You didn’t want it?” Celegorm was still looking ominous. “Fucking scum. I told you you should have let me punch him.”

“I was _confused_ , Tyelko.” Curufin tightened his jaw, looking like it physically pained him to admit such a thing. “But it was a lapse. I’m quite sure, now.”

“Sure that you don’t want him.”

“What else?” Curufin shrugged. “I far prefer the status quo, anyway. Much easier, much cleaner – god forbid I end up in the same sort of entanglements as you fools. Nelyo and his pet Nolofinwion. You and your…” Curufin caught sight of Celegorm’s rapidly lowering brows, and said hastily, “…Oromë. It’s far too much drama and mess for my blood. I prefer it this way.”

“Okay,” said Celegorm slowly. “As long as you’re sure. As long as you’re happy…”

“I am fine.”

“And I really can’t…”

“You may NOT commit grievous bodily harm against Findaráto, no.”

“You don’t let me have any fun.”

“Worry about your own problems, Tyelko. I can handle myself, and there’s nothing for you to fret about on my account. I have it perfectly under control.” Curufin gave a rare smile, and wiped wet hair out of his eyes. “I always do.”

 

* * *

 

 

Ríanellë let herself back into Maglor’s room, pulling the door shut softly behind her. Maglor rolled over in bed, propping himself on one elbow to regard her sleepily. His dark hair was loose and messy, and his shoulders were bare. He shivered a little and tugged the blankets up to his chest.

“Hey. Sorry, I must’ve dropped back to sleep again.”

“No worries.” Ríanellë smiled and crossed over to the chair where her clothes from the night before were draped. “I couldn’t find the coffee you mentioned, but your brothers went out to get more.”

“You met my brothers?” Maglor paled. “Oh, god.”

“It’s okay, they didn’t do anything shocking. Thor was polite enough, if a bit…oggly.”

“Who’s _Thor?”_ Maglor wrinkled his nose and then recognition dawned. “…You mean Tyelko, don’t you.”

“If that’s the one who would be the most likely to stare at how my nipples showed through my top, then yes. But how many brothers do you _have_? I thought you only mentioned two at the café last night, but those two were brand new to me…”

“Six.”

Ríanellë blinked. “Holy cow.”

“Yeah.” Maglor sighed. “We get that a lot. But hey,” he sat up in bed as Ríanellë started pulling the sweatshirt over her head, “…are you coming back to bed?” He swallowed hard as Ríanellë dropped the sweatshirt to the ground and picked her bra out of the pile of clothes. “Um, I promise you don’t need to put that back on.”

Ríanellë laughed, slipping her arms through her bra straps. “Sorry, I meant to stick around for coffee, at least, but it’s already later than I thought.”

From downstairs came the sounds of the door opening and stomping feet and a muffled voice complaining about the smell of wet dog, and another voice retorting, “I bet you don’t smell that lovely either, you soggy little nugget.”

"Stop  _calling_ me that!"

“…Sounds like your brothers are home.”

“Yeah.” Maglor slipped out of bed and padded swiftly over to his record player. Grabbing an album from his collection, he dropped it onto the turntable and lowered the needle, turning the volume up so that the sounds of the White Stripes drowned out the noises from below.

Ríanellë raised an eyebrow as Maglor crossed the room to lean against the chair next to her, reaching out to grasp her hips. “Maglor, I really can’t stick around for morning shenanigans.”

“That’s not why I put on the music,” said Maglor, indignantly. “Well, not entirely,” he conceded, as Ríanellë’s eyebrows raised disbelievingly. “It’s mostly because I _know_ my brothers will be trying to eavesdrop.” But he couldn’t quite stop himself from sliding a hand up her side to ghost over the slight swell of her breast.

“Don’t worry, I won’t give them anything juicy to overhear.” Ríanellë stepped out his arms and slid out of the pajama pants she’d borrowed, grabbing her tights and skirt. “Shoot, is it ten already?”

“Okay,” said Maglor quickly. “I know you’re in a rush, but when can I see you again? I know it’s an odd order to do things in, spending the night before we even go on a date, but let me take you out to dinner this Friday. Do you like Mediterranean?”

“Maglor…”

“Or Indian? I know this wonderful place where my ex – I mean, a friend – used to be hostess, it’s got great dhosa.”

“Maglor.”

“Or Ethiopian - What?”

“That's not going to work for me.”

“Friday’s out, then? Does a weeknight suit you better? I work Wednesday and Thursday evening shifts, but…”

“I’m not going on a date with you,” said Ríanellë, gently. “Period. I’m not interested in going out with you.”

“What?”

“I told you last night. I don’t date musicians. I don’t date much of _anyone_ right now.”

Maglor shook his head, smiling. “Right, of course. No dating.” He put his hands on her waist again and leaned down to kiss her neck, his hair falling over her shoulder. “If the terminology is what's bothering you, we could call it a rendezvous, or a tête-à-tête, if you prefer…”

Ríanellë pulled away. “Cute. But I’m not interested.”

Maglor stared at her, baffled. “You don’t want to go out with me?”

“Nope.”

“ _Nope_?”

Ríanellë pulled on her tights. “Nope, thank you?”

“We spent the night together!”

“We sure did. It was a lot of fun. You’re quite a good kisser, and I enjoyed making out with you for three hours straight. But I wasn’t kidding when I told you I don’t date musicians. I thought you got that.”

“Yeah, but I thought…” Maglor ran his hand through his hair. “I thought I won you over.”

Ríanellë laughed. “You think that’s all it takes? You’re a little smug, aren’t you?”

“Well, usually…”

“Usually?” Ríanellë’s smile turned sharp. “Usually you can sleep with girls easily, because you’re so dreamy and deep, and oh, how they love you. Usually, the trick is _avoiding_ calling them after you spend a few nights together…”

“You don’t know that’s how it goes!”

“That’s true, I don’t know that’s how it goes. Is it?”

Maglor closed his mouth. “Okay, sometimes. But I thought I convinced you to give me a shot!”

“Nope.”

“NOPE?”

“Nope, thank you.” Ríanellë pulled on her shirt and grabbed her long down coat from the back of the chair. “You’re cute, and you’re a nice kisser, but nope. I don’t want to date you, or any musician, or anyone, right now. I told you that, straight up, last night. Sorry.” She pulled her braid out of her collar and gave him a slightly wistful smile. “I’ll see you around, Maglor.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was late in the afternoon. Maglor was playing loud, angry music from his room, and Celegorm, yelling something about “…more FUCKING Jack White. ENOUGH”, had stormed out of the house midday to seek refuge with Oromë. Caranthir had rolled out of bed around two, then spent several hours at the kitchen table, buried in books and groaning periodically over an essay outline. Finally he’d given up, leaving his school books in a heap on the kitchen table, and dropped onto the couch in the living room to watch reruns of shows from the 90s.

Someone else came into the living room and paused, watching him, before speaking.

“Hey.”

Caranthir half looked up, then back at the TV, wordless.

“Are you going to acknowledge me?”

Caranthir grunted. “What do you want? I’m watching a show.”

Curufin crossed the room and switched off the TV.

Caranthir growled. “Curvo, I just finished like 400 pages of reading and a 12 page outline. I have earned a goddamned break, and if you don’t turn that back – ”

“I owe you an apology.”

Caranthir blinked, taken aback, finally looking up at his brother. “What?”

“An apology. I owe you one.”

“Huh?”

“Eloquent.” Curufin sighed. “Listen, I…was unfair to you a while back. About the whole…Findaráto incident. I’d like to take back what I said.”

Caranthir looked perplexed. “You _never_ take things back.”

“I was being judgmental and rigid and I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”

“Well, _yeah_. But since when is that something you admit? And wait, so you don’t think I was being morally reprehensible or anything?”

Curufin shrugged. “Morality is relative, isn’t it? And snap judgments are the hallmark of a weak character, something I hardly feel reflects well on me.”

Caranthir was shaking his head. “Christ, Curvo. Where do you get this shit?”

“Look, I’m trying to apologize for being an ass, okay?”

“Okaaay.” Caranthir still looked confused, and a little suspicious.

“And I’m really happy for you.”

Now Caranthir’s confusion turned into full-blown disbelief. “Uh, why’s that?”

Curufin linked his hands behind his back. “I know this is what you’ve wanted for a long time.”

“What is?”

“This. A relationship. What you and Findaráto have.”

“Whoa.” Caranthir sat up straight on the couch. “Um. Hang on…”

“I’m really glad you two are dating now – I rushed to judgment because I assumed it was purely carnal, but I realize that it was just the Amarië of it all that was keeping you two apart. And now that they’re done…You can truly _be_ with him.”

“Wait, hold up. What gave you – ”

“He was really serious about Amarië,” said Curufin, his eyes soft and serious. “For him to leave her he must have fallen for you hard.”

Something like panic lit Caranthir’s eyes. “I don’t think, actually – ”

“Congratulations, Moryo.” Curufin laid a light hand on Caranthir’s shoulder. “I really like you two together. And now you finally have someone, don’t you?” He squeezed Caranthir’s shoulder. “I apologize again for all I said before. It wasn’t fair of me, and I can’t judge the situation so harshly – after all, you got a boyfriend out of it.” He gave a beautiful, sincere smile that lit his eyes from within, then turned, his fingers slipping from Caranthir’s shoulder, and left the room, switching the TV back on as he went.

Caranthir stared after him, shell-shocked.

Upstairs, the music finally ceased, and Maglor thumped down the stairs moodily. “What are you watching? _Seinfeld_? Perfect. Turn it up.”

“Uh. Right.” Caranthir didn’t move, though, so Maglor grabbed the remote from the coffee table and curled into the corner of the couch, wrapping his arms around a couch pillow.

“You look like hell,” Maglor said tightly, “but I’m not in the mood to examine whatever it is that’s going on, so – ”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Caranthir jumped as his phone vibrated in his pocket. He looked down at it.

 

_Did you still want some help with that philosophy essay?_

_I’m free for a couple hours tonight._

 

Caranthir hesitated. In the background, the laugh track roared.

 

_No that’s ok. I think I’ve got a handle on it._

_You sure? I’m happy to help. With the essay, or with anything else ;)_

 

Caranthir chewed his lip. On the other side of the couch, Maglor was busily pulling the decorative fringe off his pillow.

 

_Yea, I’m sure_

_thnks anyway._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Disclaimer that while I know what three chapters from now will hold, I have no CLUE what will take place in the next chapter. Plan your stories, kids, don't be like me.


	35. Little scream, little cry, little laughter

Maglor rang up the extra large coffee and blueberry muffin. “Let’s see, that will be,” he glanced over his shoulder, and covertly ran his employee discount card. “…three dollars.”

Maedhros grinned at him. “Thanks.”

Maglor glanced around once more, but Cuiviénen was relatively quiet and his boss was out of sight. He propped his elbows on the counter and slumped forward as Maedhros leaned next to him, picking blueberries out of his muffin and eating them absently.

“ _God_ , I’m tired.”

Maedhros handed him a blueberry. “Isn’t this like your third double shift this week?”

“I’m trying to make some extra money for that trip to New York.”

“Mm. To visit Daeron?”

“I suppose,” said Maglor reluctantly.

Maedhros nudged him. “C’mon, Kano, of course that’s why you’re going. He’s your best friend.”

“My best friend who hasn’t been in touch in months other than making blog posts about his ‘journey’ and his ‘recording sessions’ and his ‘ _opportunity_ ’…” Maglor sketched the quotation marks in the air before dropping his chin to his hand. “Bleh.”

Maedhros didn’t say anything but reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “So,” he said, after a little while, a mischievous light in his eyes, “Tyelko texted me that you were… _entertaining,_ the other night….”

“Oh, fuck that stupid yellow-headed…”

“…beloved brother of ours. You know the rules. I get regular updates on your lives, even if I don’t live with you anymore. Tyelko texts me about you, you text me about Moryo, Moryo texts me about Tyelko, and Curvo…”

“Curvo abides no one reporting on him, and in return promises to never hack our accounts _ever_ again.”

Maedhros shuddered. “It took a lot of talking for me to explain to Finno why there were so many Canadian beastialists emailing me. And then it took even more talking to get him to stop laughing.” He took a long drink of his coffee. “Mmm. Did you add sugar to this already?”

“I know how you like it. And I believe you when you say you aren’t interested in intercourse with a wolverine. Truly.”

“Ha ha. Let’s get back to your guest from last weekend. Was it that girl from open mic night?”

Maglor turned away and made much of scrubbing at the espresso machine. His bandana slipped down over his forehead. “What girl?”

Maedhros rolled his eyes. “The pretty one, with the voice. The one who had you positively hypnotized the moment she opened her mouth.”

“Well, that’s a cliché,” muttered Maglor, retying the bandana around his hair with a certain amount of violence. “And hyperbole to boot.”

“Not actually. The whole time she was performing you were basically as non-responsive as that time you ate two pot brownies in a single afternoon.”

Maglor turned around, scowling. “You said you’d never bring that up again.”

Maedhros shrugged. “When needs must….”

“You’re being horribly unfair to me after I gave you your coffee 50% off.”

“I do _so_ appreciate it.” Maedhros leaned over the counter and smiled winningly at his brother. “But Kano, _tell me_ about what happened last weekend! Since when do you hide stuff from me?”

“I don’t…I don’t want…” Maglor began. “Look, I’m not…”

The bell on the front door jangled and Maglor straightened up, a look of relief crossing his face. He pushed his sleeves up and slid Maedhros’ cup of coffee and plate gently away from the register. “We can talk about it later, hm?”

Maedhros regarded him skeptically. “If you say so.”

“You heading to the bar now?” Maglor asked quietly, one eye on the customer who’d wandered in and was reading the tea list.

“No, actually.” It was Maedhros’ turn to look evasive. He shifted from foot to foot. “Actually, I’m going to a job interview.”

“No shit!” Maglor let out the exclamation louder than intended, and the customer looked over, alarmed. Maglor blushed, and ducked back down over the counter. “You got an interview? Where? Something you actually want?”

“Um, do you mind if I don’t tell you just yet?” Maedhros asked softly. “I’m…a little superstitious, I guess. But I feel like I don’t want to jinx it. Also, Kano,” his voice dropped further, “I’m _terrified_ , and if I talk about it, it’ll make it real.”

“I know that feeling.” Maglor’s fingers brushed Maedhros’ sleeve briefly before he straightened up again. “Good luck with it, whatever it is. You will tell me more when it’s over, though, won’t you?”

“Maybe in exchange for some information from you.” Maedhros’ teasing smile was back. “But thanks, Kano. For the coffee, and the luck.”

 

* * *

 

Turgon rounded the corner, his phone pressed to his ear, arguing vociferously. “Why wouldn’t you just _say_ that then, what’s all this ‘northwest on Luvailin’ nonsense? Why can’t you just say, ‘turn right’?”

On the other end of the line, Finrod let out a long breath. “I am simply reading out the map instructions,” he said evenly. “And I can resign as your Jarvis at any time, Turno.”

“No, no,” said Turgon hastily. “You’re being super helpful, really. Um, how far do I go on Luvailin?”

“About a quarter mile. Say, just because I’m curious, are you going planning on getting a smartphone any time soon?”

“No. My dumbphone is fine. And it’s still on my parents’ plan,” muttered Turgon. “I don’t need to be able to check email on the go…”

“But a gps might be helpful, yes? Instead of calling me and asking me to pull up directions on my computer?”

“Do the words ‘med school loans’ mean nothing to you?”

“I mean, god knows I enjoy this quality time with you, and I have nothing better to do, but…”

“ _Thank_ you, Ingo,” said Turgon loudly. “I’m here now. Bye.”

Finrod sighed again on the other end, but there was amusement in his voice as he said, “Call any time you require assistance. It was my pleasure aiding you, sir.”

“Oh, hush,” said Turgon, and hung up as Finrod’s laugh echoed down the line. He compared the number on the side of the building with the scrap of paper in his pocket on more time, then rang the buzzer. He ran a hand through his hair as he waited, the familiar, uneven metronome of anxiety ticking behind his ears. _I could use a haircut. When do I have time for that? I need to study and go to the clinic and get a gift for mom’s birthday and that paper is due Tuesday… maybe I’ll just ask Irissë to cut it for me. And I need to find a new place to live by the 30_ _th_ _…_

“Hello?” A staticky voice crackled over the intercom.

“Hi!” Turgon sprang forward. “Um, I’m here to look at the apartment for sublet; I exchanged emails with –”

“Oh good, yes, come on up!” the voice said. “The door should be unlocked.”

Turgon climbed the staircase and made his way to the apartment marked 4b. He knocked, and the door swung open.

“I’m so glad you made it! We’re kind of crunched for time on the whole sublet thing, because Elinel’s leaving so unexpectedly, so I’m really glad that – ” The speaker broke off, her eyes widening.

Turgon’s mouth shaped an _oh_ that he didn’t actually say.

Amarië froze, her hand still on the doorknob, an expression of surprise on her face.

“You weren’t the person I emailed with,” said Turgon feebly, at last.

Amarië shook her head. She self-consciously tugged her overlarge pink sweater straight as she said, “Oh. No, right. That would have been my roommate. She’s technically the one looking for the sub-letter. She has to leave really quickly – her mom’s sick, and she has to go home for the semester – but she was going to be meeting with her advisor when you said you could come over, so she just asked if I wouldn't mind showing you the place…and screening you, since I’d be the one living with you after all…” She paused, blushing, seeming to realize she was rambling, and added, “But she _did_ fail to mention your name.”

“Small oversight,” said Turgon, attempting a smile. “Did…did you just move here recently yourself? I could have sworn you lived on the other side of town.”

“Yeah,” said Amarië softly. “I moved at the end of last semester. Needed…a change.”

They looked at each other’s feet for a while.

“Well,” said Turgon, just as Amarië said, “So…”

They both broke off again and laughed, uncomfortably.

“Oh god,” said Turgon. “I’m sorry this is so weird. I’ll just head out, okay? No worries on the whole thing…” He was turning to go, but Amarië reached out and caught his arm.

“Oh screw this, Turno – we’re friends, aren’t we? We don’t have to be so awkward. D’you want to come in and have tea or something?”

“Sure,” said Turgon in relief, turning back. “That sounds perfect.” 

He settled himself at the small table by the window, while Amarië put on the kettle and pulled a box of cookies out of the cupboard. He peered interestedly out the window –  _not a bad view, and gets good light…no, stop, you’re not actually scouting this place as a potential apartment, knock it off –_ and nearly upset a small spider plant on the sill. He righted it hastily.

“Nice plant you have here,” he said, to cover the moment, and felt stupid. _You’re making small talk about florae?_ “I always liked spider plants, there was one – ” He caught himself again, turning red.  – _there was one in Finrod’s room I always liked. Probably a clipping from this one. Shut up, you idiot._

But Amarië, who was shaking the box of cookies onto a plate and looking crestfallen when only two fell out, didn’t seem to have heard. “…Oops. Um, I have carrot sticks too…”

“That’s fine,” said Turgon, overly jovial, and patted the spider plant once more before folding his hands on the table and trying hard to look nonchalant. _So far this not being awkward thing is going_ brilliantly.

They perched together at the table, crunching on carrot sticks and trying to avoid burning their tongues on the rooibos spice tea Amarië had poured them. Turgon grasped for some decent, and if possible, even smaller talk.

“How’s the basketball season been?”

“Fine,” said Amarië brightly, but there was a false note in her voice. Turgon cocked his head at her, and she hunched her shoulders. “Lousy,” she admitted. “I got injured in practice last week.”

“Oh _no_.”

“Yes. So I’m out for the next three games.” She stared down at her clasped hands. “Everything's coming together really brilliantly. I can’t play, I can’t _dance_ , I’m losing my roommate, and…” The trail of her voice left no doubt as to the final item – the final someone – she was leaving off her recitation of misfortune. Turgon shifted uneasily, shoving his phone to the bottom of his pocket as if by some chance Amarië would be able to tell whose voice had most recently come through it.

Amarië blew out a sigh, and shook her head. “Sorry, I don't mean to whine. This has just been the worst fucking year.”

Turgon found himself laughing.

Amarië looked up at him, frowning. “Is something funny?”

“No,” he said honestly. “It’s just that I was having that exact same thought this morning.”

Amarië smiled a little. “I’m glad it’s not just me.” She raised her mug, which had a faded image of a mouse in a tutu on it, and clinked it against Turgon’s. “Cheers.”

Turgon raised his mug in return. “Here’s to an infinitely better new year. Wouldn’t be hard to do, eh?”

“Amen.”

They drank.

-

Turgon had well overspent the forty-five minutes he’d allotted for an apartment tour, but had quite forgotten the studying, and the haircut, and the other pile of to-dos waiting for him at home.

He twirled his teaspoon between his fingers as he ruminated. “Honestly, I think this place is closer to the med school campus than it is to the main campus.”

“It totally is,” said Amarië, stretching one of her long legs out against the chair across from her. “It’s like a twenty minute bike ride for me to get to class, but come on, this place is _great.”_

“Oh yeah? Prove it.”

Amarië grinned. “I’m glad you asked. I’ve totally been practicing my spiel all morning because I was nervous about giving this tour later.”

“…I would absolutely have done the same thing.”

“See, Elinel always laughs at me when she hears me practicing out loud, but I swear, it’s helpful. Anyway,” she squared her shoulders and folded her hands in her lap, affecting a pompous look. Turgon stifled a laugh.

“A corner unit with southern exposure and it’s own patio, this apartment is a two bedroom, two bath – ”

“Two bath?” Turgon interrupted almost immediately. “ _No_.”

“Yes. Mine is the bigger of the two bedrooms, but the smaller one has its own bathroom.”

“And that one and the main bathroom  _both_ have showers?”

“Yes.”

“ARGH.” Turgon dropped back in his seat. “Do you know how long I’ve been dying for a place where I don’t have to share a bathroom, much less a shower? No more gagging over hair piles from where my roommate shaves his back…”

“Yes, I always make sure to shave my back in the privacy of my own bathroom,” said Amarië gravely. “You wouldn’t have to deal with it at all.”

“This is killing me. Okay, go on.”

“There’s tile in the kitchen, _not_ linoleum, we negotiated for that last semester, and laundry is on premises – still coin-operated, but no Laundromat runs needed. Utilities are built in, and there’s garage parking.”

“I’m dying. Give me some bad news, please.”

“Uh.” Amarië thought. “I didn’t practice that part.”

“Improvise,” Turgon pleaded. “What’s terrible about this place? What would you NOT want a potential sub-letter to see? Mold under the sink. Your tendency to play loud dubstep after midnight. Birds in the walls.”

“Birds in the walls?”

“It happened to my brother.”

“Hmm. Oh! No pets allowed. Is that enough of a deal breaker for you?”

“Totally,” said Turgon, seizing on this in relief. “I have a cat and she’s absolutely non-negotiable.”

“But you could definitely get away with a low impact pet. Our neighbors have lived here five years and they have a rabbit.”

“A rabbit?”

“A huge one. It hangs out on their patio in plain sight and everything. It’s the size of a small boulder, and the property managers don’t seem to care at all. A quiet old cat, like yours is, right – ”

“Right…”

“ – would probably fly under the radar no problem.”

Turgon made a strangled sound. “And if the price your roommate was quoting is accurate, it’s still $75 less a month than I pay.”

“Yep.”

Turgon drummed his fingers on the table. “Okay, listen, are we _sure_ it would be awkward for me to live here?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“It’s going to hurt like a motherfucker.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re going to _bleed_.”

“Maybe.”

“You’re going to _cry_.”

“You wish.”

“I’m going to take pictures.”

“You best not, bitch.”

Aredhel swung out a foot to trip Celegorm but he hopped over it. She stuck her tongue out at him. “They’re gonna mess it up. And then you’re gonna be stuck with some artistic atrocity, and hafta get it removed– have you ever seen that done? How they have to feather in the anesthetic with hypodermics under the skin? I’ve seen it; my mom made all of us watched a removal so that we’d think twice before getting one. Arko threw up.”

Celegorm curled his lip at her. “Remind me why I’m bringing you?”

“Because I’m your best friend.” Aredhel skipped up and attempted to drape an arm over Celegorm’s shoulders, but couldn’t quite reach. She settled for tweaking the bill of his baseball cap down over his face. “I am here for emotional support.”

“Yeah, but all I hear is you trying to get me to chicken out.”

“If you really want to do this, you have to consider all the ways it can go wrong, and then STILL do it. That’s what I’m helping with.”

Celegorm sighed. “So far, the main way it’s going wrong is bringing _you_ along.”

“Hey, fair’s fair. You got to come when I got my bellybutton pierced.”

“Yeah, that was actually kinda gross.”

“Do you know how much worse this is going to be?”

Celegorm grabbed Aredhel by the shoulders, pulling her up short. She grinned at him as he shook her lightly. “Irissë, I swear to god…”

“It’s pretty sweet that you’re doing this, honestly.”

Celegorm took a deep breath. “Really?”

“Yes. Is it going to be identical?”

“No. I mean for one, I couldn’t get a good enough rendering of it for the artist, and also, individuality and whatever, right? But it’s…similar. A whatchacallit, homage kinda thing.”

“He’s going to be pretty surprised when he sees.”

“That’s the idea.”

They started walking again, Aredhel threading an arm around Celegorm’s waist as he tucked his hands into the pockets of his Beleriand U. letterman jacket. “How are you going to keep it hidden from him for that long?”

“What?”

“You don’t want to show him when it’s fresh. It’ll be all gross and scabby and bleedy and pus-y.”

Celegorm stopped again. “For how long?”

“Have you not done any research on this? For fuck’s sake, Tyelko.”

“I did do research! I’ve got the best artist in town – have you _seen_ Egalmoth’s work? – and he did some design mock-ups for me, and I even refrained from downing a bottle of whiskey beforehand, because he said that was against the rules…”

“But you didn’t research healing times.”

“I factored in a week,” said Celegorm defensively, “He won’t be back from that conference in Akron until next Thursday…”

“Just in time for you to be nice and scabby!”

“Nooo…”

Aredhel shrugged. “Well, then just steer clear of him for a bit.”

“Yeah, I can’t do that.”

“Why n-”

“Not see Oromë for a week? When we’re both in town? I don’t have that kind of self control.”

“Well, that’s true enough. You’re a hopeless case.” She socked him lightly in the arm.

“ _Please_ , like you’re not exactly the same with Elenwë.”

Aredhel ignored this. “Then you’ll just have to not let him see you with your shirt off.”

They both considered this.

“No showering together, no sleeping naked, fucking with a shirt on…”

“He’s gonna think you’ve been body-snatched.”

“Goddamnit, Ireth.”

Aredhel twiddled her mittened thumbs. “Have I ruined your plan with logic and rationality?”

“Yeah, I told you to knock that shit off.”

“Sorry,” said Aredhel contritely. “Look, it’s no disaster if he sees it before it’s perfectly healed. I think he’ll still really like it.”

“Hope so.”

They walked on in silence for a while, Celegorm running musing fingers over his shoulder every once in a while, as if imagining what would soon be there. Aredhel hummed tunelessly and kicked a rock along for a block or so until it skittered off into a storm drain. She grew more alert as they headed into the warehouse district. They were about to pass adjacent to the great empty lot where the Alqualondë Factory had once stood, and where now instead were the simple white lines of the memorial. There were often tributes left here, and other times, there were protesters, standing with their backs to the marble, their condemnatory signs screaming silently towards the city center. Aredhel knew Celegorm would never confront protesters at the site itself, but seeing the signs always made him turn stony and cold, and so she hoped to hurry him past.

There were no protesters there tonight, though – only one figure knelt by the memorial, placing a candle in a simple glass holder. Aredhel wrapped her fingers around Celegorm’s arm and tried nonchalantly to pull him along in a way that made it seem like she wasn’t pulling him along. He glanced down at her, a crooked smile on his lips, as if he knew exactly what he was doing. He looked briefly at the figure by the memorial, and she saw him frown.

“What time does the shop close?” she asked to distract him.

“Hang on,” he said slowly. “Is that…that looks like…”

The figure was straightening up from the candle; and Aredhel could see that it was woman, wrapped in a long down coat, though her hood was pushed back and her head was bare. She was gazing up at the memorial, quite absorbed, though she kept brushing at her overlong black bangs, which were falling into her eyes.

“It _is_. Why would she be -”

“Is what?” Aredhel dragged on Celegorm’s arm as he stopped almost entirely to regard the woman by the memorial. “Come _on_ , Tyelko, what if we miss your appointment slot?”

“It’s her, it’s the-”

“There’s a car coming, Tyelko, get outta the street.”

By the time the car had passed, the woman had started off down the street away from them, having never turned in their direction. Celegorm stared after her for a while, then shook his head and carried on, looking down in faint surprise at Aredhel, who had been dragging at his arm for the past five minutes.

“Can I help you with something, Irissë?”

“Oh, nothing,” she said in exasperation as they continued on down the street. “Don’t mind me, I’m sure.”

“I tend not to.”

They rounded the corner and came into the part of the warehouse district that had been taken over by indie art galleries and glass-blowing studios – and one or two artfully run-down but impeccably managed tattoo parlors. A blinking neon sign halfway down the block proclaimed that Heavenly Arch Ink & Steel was open for business.

Egalmoth, spiky haired and many-earring’ed, looked up from behind the counter and waved cheerily, the brilliantly colored tattoos that covered his arms exposed by rolled up shirtsleeves. “Wolf boy! Right on time.” He smiled at Aredhel. “Is this your emotional support?”

“Something like that,” said Celegorm, shrugging out of his jacket.

Aredhel beamed at him. “Wolf boy, eh?”

“Oh, you’re gonna remember that one, aren’t you?”

“Mmmm yes, I think so. But if you’re very lucky I won’t text your brothers about it.”

“ ‘s long as you don’t text my dad about it. You know how he is about tattoos. Makalaurë still won’t wear short sleeves around him because he’s so terrified of how he’ll react.”

“The difference is that if _you_ start wearing long sleeves and turtle necks all the time around him, he’s gonna KNOW something is up.”

“What did I say about you ruining my plans with logic and rationality?”

“You said to stop it.”

“I did.”

“Sorry, bro.”

A purple-haired woman with the silhouette of a swallow tattooed on the side of her neck emerged from the back of the shop, working at a very large silver ring with a polishing cloth. She nodded at Celegorm, obviously recognizing him, and winked at Aredhel. “You here to get something done, babe? Something inked? Something pierced?”

“Not today, I think,” said Aredhel blithely.

“You sure? You’d look wicked cute with a septum piercing.”

Aredhel shook her head, grinning, as Egalmoth said, “Duilin, I told you, no piercing the unwilling.”

“Never,” said Duilin, spinning the ring around one finger, and then flicking it expertly across the shop using her polishing cloth as a slingshot. Egalmoth caught it and laid it on the counter, shaking his head.

“It’s merchandise, not ballistics.”

“That’s what you think.”

Turning his attention back to Celegorm, Egalmoth came out from behind the counter and gestured to one of the curtained off areas where customers sat for their tattoos.

“I’ll get a chair for your friend to sit next to you – ”

“So you can hold my hand,” said Aredhel seriously. “And so I can blot your tears when you weep from the pain. Hey, Duilin, was it? Can I borrow your cloth for tear blotting?”

“There will be no weeping, Irissë, though there may be ass-kicking if you don’t shut up.”

“ – and I can get to work on the outline.” Egalmoth pulled on a pair of plastic gloves. Aredhel perched in the chair Duilin had brought over and clammed up as Celegorm leaned forward to listen to Egalmoth. “Since it’s fairly simple line art, and you’re not going for major color or anything, I think we can do it in one session. You ready for this?”

“Hell yes,” said Celegorm, and pulled his shirt off over his head.


	36. Find the sun in the dark side of my shadow

Rúmil turned over Maedhros’ resume to examine his references. “Very impressive. Of course, I think most of us know what you accomplished just out of college. The work you did for the company was quite remarkable, and I have to wonder why you’re coming to us, after all that.” She took of her glasses and looked at him rather closely, if kindly. “You seemed to have an aptitude for such work, and certainly that’s where the bulk of your experience lies. I’d have to say – ”

Maedhros leaned forward in his chair anxiously. “I know I don’t have a lot of professional experience in this area, but I’ve given it a lot of thought and this is far more where my interests lie. Working in industry was…the family business. But it’s not what I’m passionate about. I’ve already started applications for grad school so I can start working on my degree – and license – right away. This would be a great opportunity for me to start building more hands-on experience, and – ”

“ _More_ hands-on experience?” Rúmil’s eyes dropped to his resume again. “I don’t see that you have done anything in the way of this kind of work.”

“No,” said Maedhros, and despite his nerves, he couldn’t help but smile. “But I am the eldest of seven. I have had _immersive_ experience working with children.”

“True enough.” Rúmil steepled her fingers and looked thoughtful. “I remember you coming to pick up your brothers when they were here. You did always have a way with them.”

“I taught two of my brothers to read,” said Maedhros, trying not to feel embarrassed that this was all he had to show for his so-called experience. “And I was a tutor all through high school, and part of college. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but this is exactly the kind of thing I want to do more of.”

“You know this is hardly a prestigious position? It’s essentially one step above being a volunteer.”

“I don’t need prestige. And I’d happily volunteer," said Maedhros earnestly, "if that was my only option.”

Rúmil hummed, and closed the file on his paperwork. “Well, we already have one young woman coming in a couple times a week to do music with the afterschool program, and it would be nice to have another set of hands. You are far over-qualified in some ways, and rather under-qualified in others, but the afterschool could certainly use you. I will just need to run a couple routine background checks – CORI and so on – and then I’ll get in touch with you about your start dates. Let me know how the grad school process goes.”

“Thank you,” said Maedhros in relief. “I really appreciate this opportunity, ma’am.”

“Nelyafinwë, I’ve known you since you were five years old, you don’t have to call me ‘ma’am’.” Rúmil stood, and held out her hand. Maedhros stood too, unfolding his legs with difficulty from the too-small chair (Rúmil had apologized for holding their interview in one of the classrooms.) “It will be good to have one of you around again.”

Maedhros shook her hand. “It will be good to be back. Um, and if you don’t mind…I don’t know if you ever run into him, but if you do…Let me be the one to tell my father, won’t you?”

“Don’t worry, Nelyo,” said Rúmil, and dropped his hand with a faint smile. “It won't be a problem. Your father and I haven’t spoken in years.”

 

* * *

 

Amarië shifted the books in her arms and tried not to laugh as Galadriel muttered under her breath at her side.

“Artanis…”

“Mis-conjugated – As if I’ve mis-conjugated anything in my entire life – It _can’t_ just be that he’s hard of hearing and too stubborn to get a hearing aid – _non_ , professeur, of course I’m not being _insubordonné_ , I’m just telling you that you’re _wrong_ …”

“Artanis!”

“What?”

“You got a 94. You did better on your recitation than more than half the class.”

“94. Do you realize that’s one point away from an A-?”

“Yes, having gotten an A- myself.” Amarië smiled as her friend looked suddenly abashed.

“I’m being an ass, aren’t I.”

“Only a little bit.” Amarië shifted her books again so she could reach out to pat Galadriel on the arm. “Which isn’t to say that I don’t understand your frustration. You totally nailed the conjugation.”

“See - !” Galadriel caught herself again. “Yes. Quite. No point obsessing, right?”

“That’s right,” said Amarië soothingly. “What do you have now?”

“I was going to meet with Elenwë to discuss our project, but she heard from Irissë and had to rocket off. Something about needing to talk Irissë out of getting something pierced…”

“Doesn’t she already have – ”

“Something _else_ pierced.”

“Ah.”

“So,” said Galadriel, as they started down the hill to the campus center. “How did the apartment showing go this weekend? Do you have a sub-letter now?”

“Oh, that. No. Well, maybe not. Sort of? I mean, he would be a good – But I’m not sure if – He may have been joking…”

Galadriel frowned. “Amarië, you’re babbling.”

“Elinel set up the visit, but managed not to give me the name of the prospective tenant who was coming over.”

“Okay…”

“So you can imagine my surprise when your cousin showed up at my door.”

“Which cousin?” said Galadriel at once. “Full or step? Tall or really tall? Male or – ”

“The former, the latter, and male, of course. Turukáno.”

“Oh. Huh.” Galadriel fell silent.

“I know. But I really need a roommate, and soon. The thing is that we actually get on really well, and I think he’d be a good roommate, but there’s the small issue of him being best friends with – ”

“Findaráto.”

Amarië flushed. “Yes.”

“No, I mean…” Galadriel stepped in front of Amarië, almost protectively, and Amarië craned her neck, confused, trying to look over Galadriel’s shoulder. Amarië was tall enough herself, but she had nothing on Galadriel. “…I mean, Findaráto, what are you doing here?”

Finrod had been sitting on a bench in front of the campus center, and had risen to his feet as the two girls approached. “Hello, Artanis.” He gave a slight smile. “Amarië.”

Amarië didn’t say anything, her throat suddenly having constricted into a tight, horrible little knot.

“I’m here to pick you up, remember?” Finrod said to Galadriel, when it became clear Amarië wasn’t going to – or couldn’t – answer.

“We’d said 6 o’clock,” said Galadriel, still letting her body serve as buffer between Amarië and Finrod. “You’re over an hour early.”

“Mother had to shift dinner up – she swapped call shifts with Anairë this evening. I tried to call you but your phone was off.”

“I was in class.”

“At any rate, I found you, so I can take you to dinner now – Aiko’s going to meet us there.”

“Fine,” said Galadriel slowly. She turned back to Amarië, who was quite pale now, rather than flushed, and who was holding onto her books in front of her as if they were a shield. “Sorry to cut our conversation short, but I’ll call you later tonight, all right? We can talk more about the thing you just mentioned…”

“I don’t think it’ll be a problem,” said Amarië, in a very low voice. Finrod was watching her with the light, curious glance of his, the one that had drawn her to him in the first place, but just now, made her feel like her skin was trying to retreat into her flesh. “I’ll see you around, Artanis.” And she fled – she knew that was what she was doing, even though she felt ashamed of herself for doing so. She fled, even though walking that fast made her ankle vibrate with pain. She fled, because she didn’t think she could stand Finrod knowing that just the sight of him could make her cry.

 

-

 

Galadriel adjusted her shoulder bag and started to walk down the street at Finrod’s side. She didn’t say anything, but Finrod kept looking back over his shoulder, even though Amarië was long gone.

“It’s funny,” he said softly. “I had a dream about her last night. Odd that I would have had that dream and then seen her for the first time in – ”

“Right,” said Galadriel curtly.

Finrod either didn’t register her tone, or was deliberately ignoring it. He appeared to be thinking. “Did she hurt herself?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“She’s favoring her right leg,” said Finrod patiently. “Is she injured?”

Galadriel looked reluctant but said, “She hurt her Achilles in practice.”

“Oh.” Finrod looked over his shoulder again. “Is she doing all right? I know that must be hard for her…”

“Yes, it is.”

“She looked well, considering. But then, she’s always been tough, hasn’t she, even though she looks so sweet and delicate? I wonder what it means, that I dreamt of her. Maybe I was meant to – ”

“Oh, _no_. Stop,” said Galadriel, pulling up short, and turning a furious gaze on her brother.

“What?”

“Knock it off. Leave her alone. I won’t have you dragging her back into your nonsense. I won’t have you…idealizing her.”

Finrod stared at her, his lips thinning. “How do you know what I’m doing? You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“You have that look on your face. You have that tone in your voice. You’re making her into an _idea_ , and soon you’re going to start yearning for it.”

“That is _not_ what I’m doing. ”

“All she would have had to do,” said Galadriel, relentlessly, “if she wanted to keep you, was to have dumped you back in August. Then, oh, you would have wanted her like burning. You wouldn’t have been able to endure for love of her.”

“ _That’s not true_. What on earth are you– ”

“How have you not figured this out yet? You want what you can’t have, Ingoldo, it's the oldest cliché in the book. You love the unattainable, you crave the forbidden, you want to be loved but only if you’re told no, that’s the thing you can’t have!”

- 

There had never been knock-down fights in their household, growing up. They had all, for the most part, gotten along well. But always there had been an understanding that when they fought – if they fought – it would be a battle of words, more psychological warfare than anything else. Finrod and Galadriel had both been experts; had both been merciless when given the chance. And all of a sudden, echoes of their few, fervent battles from their youth were clamoring in their ears.

_I am the only person who sees as much as you do, and guess what? I’ve been watching._

- 

Finrod’s face had smoothed out into a mask. “I don’t do that.”

“Don’t you? You always want what’s just around the corner, and you discard whatever you’re holding at the time to seek it. But then, once you’ve made it around the corner, you look back over your shoulder and realize what you’ve dropped is precious, after all.”

They’d been masters on the debate team.

“Cleverly put. What a generous description of me,” said Finrod, coolly, his eyes turning sharp and icy. “By your reckoning then, Artanis, I will never be happy.”

“No,” said Galadriel bluntly. “If you keep at it like you are, you won’t be.”

“Charming. Any other judgments to pass on me, little sister?”

“Don’t patronize me.” Galadriel was walking again, her long legs carrying her swiftly down the sidewalk. Finrod kept pace with her easily. “But leave Amarië be. You’ve crushed her enough times already, leave her _alone._ Your dream didn’t mean anything other than maybe you have a guilty conscience, or perhaps you’ve gone long enough without her that you’re realizing what you’ve lost, or maybe it was just the detritus of having been with someone for _two years_ – hard to shake that from your subconscious." Finrod opened his mouth to retort, but Galadriel plunged on relentlessly. "And I know you’re doing something stupid with Carnistir too, I _know_ you are, and so do you. You know it’s going to blow up in your face, hah, you’re _counting_ on it. That’s always your back-up plan. Work your way in, make yourself beloved, and always have an exit strategy – total combustion.”

Finrod was white with anger. “Do you have a point with all this, Artanis?”

“I’m tired of seeing who you leave in your wake!” snarled Galadriel, rounding on him. “I love Amarië, and these days it’s hard for her to even be around me because she’s afraid of seeing you! Do you think it’s easy for me to see one of my good friends totally shattered by you? I love her like a sister, Ingo, and as it turns out, I’m rather short on sisters in this family. For what it's worth, I loved Andreth too!”

“How is THAT my fault?”

“Oh, please. You broke them up! You think I don’t know about the talk you had with her? You were so set on being perceptive and reading their relationship that you thrust them apart as effectively as if you’d broken it off yourself. You didn’t take a moment to think that for all of their issues, they deserved a chance to try and work through things? But no, you can’t hold back, can you? You always have to prove that you’re more conscious of what’s going on with people than they are themselves, and then you tell them exactly what that is, and then you act surprised when this tears them up…”

“Ironic, then,” said Finrod coldly, “that that’s _exactly_ what you’re doing right now. How _very_ self-aware. Are are you so caught up in your own perfection, your own little bubble of superiority that you can’t see the hypocrisy of calling me out while doing exactly what you’re condemning?”

“Oh no,” said Galadriel. “I know exactly what I’m doing. The difference is that this isn’t about me trying to prove how smart I am to you, Ingoldo. You _know_ that. I am doing this because you _need_ to be torn up. It’s about time someone did it.”

“What arrogant bullshit,” snapped Finrod. “How entitled are you, Artanis, that you need to inflict your opinion on everyone around you? I see now why you keep Teleporno around…Do you love him because he’s just mild enough a personality to be no threat to you? Or do you love him because he’d never challenge you, which is good, because god forbid someone _ever_ challenge you…”

Galadriel seemed to grow several inches. She was already taller than her brother, but now she _loomed_. “Don’t you _dare_ talk about him like that.  Like you know a thing about him – about _us_. What would you know about how we challenge each other? He is so much I will never be – so much _you_ could never be – and he is more worthy of love than any person I have ever met.”

“And me? Am I not worthy of love?”

“ _Not right now you’re not_.” 

They arrived at the car and Galadriel got in, her lips in a thin, tight line, her eyes blazing. Finrod stood outside his door for a moment, clearly working to get his temper under control, and then got in and started the engine.

By the time they made it to dinner, Galadriel and Finrod were perfectly composed, and brilliantly, icily polite to one another. Eärwen frowned at their stiff shoulders, and Aegnor, who’d been gloomy since Angrod left anyway, sighed into his salad, but neither said anything. Galadriel and Finrod both smiled, and made light small-talk. But they didn’t meet each other’s eyes, and neither ate very much.

And when they left to go home, Galadriel rode with Aegnor instead, and Finrod didn’t show up at the apartment the three of them shared until much, much later.

 

* * *

 

“Hello?” Celegorm pulled his key out of the lock as he stepped through the door, Huan barreling past his legs to go crashing into Nahar, who tolerated him with weary patience. “Oromë?”

“Tyelko?”

Celegorm was halfway through shrugging off his jacket when Oromë appeared in the front hallway.

“Hey, sorry I didn’t let you know I was dropping by, I – ” But before Celegorm could finish his sentence, Oromë was sweeping him into his arms and kissing him so thoroughly that Celegorm entirely forgot what he was going to say.

“Whew,” he said, when Oromë finally released him, one arm still tight and possessive around his waist, “That’s some welcome, Coach.”

“I missed you,” said Oromë in a low voice, one hand coming up to cup Celegorm’s face. “It’s been too long, Tyelko, it’s been weeks…”

“I know,” said Celegorm, nuzzling against Oromë’s palm. “I’m sorry, I’ve been busy, and I’ve...well, I’ve been…” He trailed off, his eyes sparkling mischievously.

Oromë frowned down at him, recognizing the glint. “What have you been up to?”

“Stalling,” said Celegorm, and kissed Oromë’s jaw. “Killing time.”

“Why were you stalling about seeing me?” Oromë pressed his palm to the small of Celegorm’s back, drawing their hips together as his eyes flickered over Celegorm’s face, trying to read him.

“Well, delayed gratification is fun, isn’t it?”

Oromë’s frown turned from concern to profound skepticism. He laid the back of his hand to Celegorm’s forehead. “Are you ill? Are you running a fever? Have you sustained some major trauma that has completely altered your personality?”

Celegorm laughed, batting Oromë’s hand away. “Yeah, ha ha, okay, Irissë called that one.”

“What _are_ you talking about?”

“Nothing. How was the conference?” Celegorm slung his arms around Oromë’s neck, since it didn’t seem like Oromë was inclined to let him go anytime soon.

“It was a week and a half ago, now.”

“So…boring?”

“Yes, fairly boring. Mostly they wanted me to speak about the successes our program has had and what might be implementable at other schools.”

“You have designed a killer program, Coach.”

“I suppose.” Oromë ran his hand up Celegorm’s back. “I have to say I’m less interested in talking about the minutiae of my week with groups of thick-necked men in polo shirts than I am in talking about _you_ …or not talking, as the case may be.”

“Eager, are you?” Celegorm grinned. “Then what are you waiting for?”

“Good question.” Oromë tugged Celegorm up into another kiss, almost pulling him off his feet. “If you don’t make it to the bedroom in the next minute, I’m just going to have to take you here in the hallway.”

They made it to the bedroom, barely, before Oromë was throwing Celegorm bodily down on the bed and making to pull his clothes off.

“Oh, right, wait, hang on hang on,” Celegorm managed, as Oromë’s fingers twisted into the material of his shirt. “Uh, okay, before I get naked, you should, like, prepare yourself.”

Oromë sat back, concern knotting his brows again. “Prepare myself for what?”

“Something new.” Celegorm scooted upright and, taking a deep breath, pulled his shirt over his head.

Oromë’s eyes raked the familiar lines of Celegorm’s torso, and then stopped, fixed, on Celegorm’s bicep and shoulder. Celegorm shifted slightly, so that he was angled slightly away from Oromë, and Oromë could see the full extent of…something new.

In addition to the light freckles that scattered over Celegorm’s tan skin, dark ink now raced from his shoulder blade to his bicep.

It was a wolf.

A clear black outline only, but lines like brush strokes that sent the animal racing in delight over Celegorm’s arm; so skillfully rendered that its wild dash across his skin conveyed all the savage, ferocious joy of the wolf; a savage, ferocious joy that was somehow also all that was essentially Celegorm.

It was a beautiful piece.

It was also familiar.

Unconsciously, Oromë reached for his own shoulder. “That’s…that’s…”

“You like it?” Celegorm was grinning, but there was some nervousness in it. “It’s why I was holding off on seeing you, I wanted it to heal up some first.”

“When – ”

“While you were away. I went with Irissë.”

Oromë found his voice. “Why didn’t you tell me before you got it?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise.”

 _It is that._ “Did you think this through?”

Celegorm’s expression shifted. “Yeah, of course I did. Why?”

Oromë ran a hand over his own arm again. “It’s just…Tyelko, I got my tattoos when I was your age, I didn’t think it through hardly at all, and there have been many times I’ve regretted them…You _know_ I had to get some covered up or removed. This is hardly something to do on a whim.”

“It wasn’t a whim.” Celegorm’s voice had tautened. “Believe me, I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. And why would I want to get it covered up or removed?”

Oromë’s eyes fell once again on the wolf. The echo of the one that raced across his own back… He knew it for the declaration it was. His heart turned over. “You may regret…”

“Why would I ever regret it?” Celegorm’s voice hardened, defiant.

 _Don’t make me say it._ “Your… your feelings may change…”

To his surprise, Celegorm laughed, shaking his head. “You’re still determined to convince me that I shouldn’t love you, aren’t you?”

“No!” Oromë leaned forward, his hands cupping Celegorm’s face tenderly once more. “Once, maybe, but now…now you’ll never find me wanting that. Your love is…” _is the most precious thing in the world to me. I just can’t let myself believe it will last as long as what you have inked on your skin._

Celegorm was watching him knowingly, as if he could see what was going on behind Oromë’s eyes. When had he gotten so good at seeing straight through him? Oromë slid his hand down Celegorm’s neck and gently touched the lines of the wolf’s back. “I just wish you’d talked about this with me beforehand. I could have – ”

“Talked me out of it? Fat chance.”

“That’s probably true. But you know…you know I think you’re -” _perfect, beautiful_ “ - just as attractive without anything like this, don’t you?”

“So you don’t like it.”

“ _No_ , that’s not it at all.” Oromë stared down at the wolf on Celegorm’s bare, golden-brown shoulder, and felt an unexpected flood of heat. His fingers brushed again over the tattoo, and he watched goose bumps rise on Celegorm’s skin. _I didn’t think it was possible to find him even more desirable than I did already._

Celegorm took his chin between his fingertips and tilted Oromë’s face up to his. “Oromë. What are you thinking?”

“I think you are the hottest fucking thing I have ever seen.”

Celegorm let out a laugh, surprised and delighted. “Oh yeah?”

“ _Yes_.” Oromë wrapped his hands around Celegorm’s hips and pulled him close.

“And you like the tattoo?”

“Very much.”

“I think I’m gonna have to make you prove it.”

“That I can do.” Oromë bent and pressed his lips, very gently, to Celegorm’s shoulder, right over the wolf’s head. “Does it still hurt to touch? Is it healed? Can I – ”

“Babe, you can do whatever you want to me.”

“ _Excellent_.”

 

-

 

Much later on, the bedroom was in wild disarray, and Celegorm and Oromë had only managed to get half dressed. Celegorm padded down the hall to the kitchen, the sprawling disorder of the bed still visible over his shoulder, and yawned, leaning on the counter.

“Is this today’s paper?”

“Yes.” Oromë was searching through the refrigerator. “Does pasta work for you for dinner?”

“Sure. We can carbo-load for the next round.” Celegorm winked as Oromë shot him a look. He bent down over the paper, shaking out the sports section. “You’re gonna root against my team in the Super Bowl, aren’t you? Just to spite me.”

“I’ve always liked Seattle,” said Oromë innocently, filling a pot with water. “Lovely city.”

“You’re not even _from_ Seattle.”

“Great team.”

“Yeah, you know who else is a great team? The – ”

“I really like their running back.”

Celegorm scowled. “You are so fucking – ” The doorbell rang, and he broke off.

Oromë sighed. “Can you toss me a shirt, please?”

“Why?” But Celegorm moseyed back to the bedroom to snag a tee shirt from the floor. “I think you should always answer the door half-naked.”

“Probably not a good idea,” said Oromë, as he went to the front hall to look through the peephole, and Celegorm tossed him a shirt from down the hall. He caught the shirt, and froze. “Definitely not a good idea…”

“What’s up?” asked Celegorm, catching sight of Oromë’s face. “Oromë, what’s wrong?”

“It’s your father. Your father is standing on my front stoop.”

 

 


	37. Anyone from my past, get your ammo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Warnings for sexual intimacy and discussion of sexual repulsion in the first scene. Also includes intense scenes (towards the end) of confrontation and over-protective/aggressive interactions with a parent; also includes descriptions of panic, rage, accidental injury.

Curufin was trying to finish a problem set and a circuit board at the same time, with mixed success, and feeling frustrated that his multi-tasking wasn’t working better. Therefore he was only slightly annoyed when his phone buzzed, and then, remembering who it was likely to be, the annoyance disappeared in a flood of apprehension and excitement – all too familiar a feeling these days.

He and Finrod hadn’t texted since That Night.

- 

_It had started with Finrod calling him and asking – in a tight, and very unlike him voice – if he wanted to go for a walk. Curufin had been about to say, “Do you know how late it is?” and “I have work”, but then he stopped, listening more to the tone of Finrod’s voice than the words themselves, and said only, “Let me get my coat.”_

_They’d walked around the park twice, and Finrod hadn’t said a word about why he was so pale and angry looking, or why he had called for a 10pm walk. Instead, he had asked about Curufin’s work, and his progress on the spark gap project, and they’d gotten into a debate about Linux that had been both unexpected and highly interesting._

_“I always forget you actually know anything worthwhile. You being a philosophy creature and all…”_

_“I was a computer science minor, thank you, and creature yourself.”_

_They had ended up back at Curufin’s house. It was late enough now that all the lights were out, including – though neither of them mentioned their particular relief at this – Caranthir’s._

_They’d gone upstairs to Curufin’s room very quietly, and then…_

_Then._

_Half the time, Curufin still wanted to run. Half the time, he still wanted to push Finrod away – too hot, too close, too heavy; odd tastes, odd sensations – and gasp for breath, fighting the crawling sensation of his skin. But the other part of him, the stubborn part, the part that told him fiercely that half-measures were not an option – pushed him on._

_And when Finrod had breathed against his lips, “You remember how I told you…How I told you I’d only touch you if you asked…”_

_Curufin had said, “Yes.” And, “I’m asking now.”_

_So Finrod had._

_And Curufin’s fingers had knotted in the sheets, and he’d choked out, “Stop”, only a minute in, and Finrod had stopped, immediately. Curufin had closed his eyes, breathing hard, and said, “Okay. Okay. Try again.” Finrod had whispered, “Remember, just say the word and I'll stop,” and taken him in hand again. And this time, Curufin hadn’t asked him to stop._

Even thinking about it now made his cheeks flush.

_So messy, so inelegant, so awkward, how can he possibly want to do this to me?_

_It had been over almost embarrassingly fast, but part of him was relieved; he didn’t think he could have endured it if had taken much longer. And the whole time Finrod had murmured soft encouragement in his ear, and repeated, “I can stop anytime you want me to”, and Curufin’s fingers had sunk into Finrod’s flesh instead of the sheets, and he had come with his lips pressed tightly together, and at the last minute, unconsciously, had buried his face in Finrod’s shoulder. Finrod’s free hand stroked lightly through his hair, as Curufin shivered through his orgasm._

_“I’m sorry,” he said, when he could speak again. “That I can’t…I can’t do the same for…”_

_“It’s fine,” said Finrod, and kissed him gently enough that Curufin should have objected. “Watching you is more than enough for me.”_

_(This was such a profoundly confusing statement that it rocked Curufin, even now; what could Finrod possibly get out of watching his overheated, untidy, crude pleasure? He could hardly bear witness to his own pleasure when he gave it to himself; how inherently unlovely and disturbing it was; even thinking about it was enough to make him shiver with vague repulsion. And yet Finrod was murmuring, in a voice soft with heat, that watching him was enough…_

_‘Why?’ he wanted to ask, ‘Explain yourself.’ He tried to consider what he would feel, watching Finrod lost in pleasure…But the image only gave him the slightly sick, detached feeling in his stomach again, even though the idea of Finrod’s flushed cheeks and panting breaths was vaguely…intriguing…_

_‘Explain this to me, explain why you said this,’ he wanted to ask, fascinated on almost a scholarly level, as if he were demanding, ‘Tell me why metaphysics is worth my time.’_

_But he didn’t.)_

It had been hard to sleep, ever since That Night.

- 

And so now, when his phone vibrated with a text message, he’d dropped his pencil at once and snatched for it, more eager than he’d admit, even to himself.

But it wasn’t Finrod. It was Celegorm.

 

* * *

 

“Shit,” Celegorm breathed, and retreated down the hall. “Shit, _shit_.” He grabbed Huan by the scruff and hauled him back towards the bedroom. He fumbled the door closed, just as the doorbell rang again.

Oromë shot one last glance down the hall, then squared his shoulders and opened the door.

Huan circled the room curiously for a moment, then flopped down on the rug to watch Celegorm with interest. Pressed against the closed door, wishing he had a peephole, or a closed circuit camera, or something, Celegorm listened as Oromë greeted Fëanor courteously, though with unmistakable confusion – and apprehension, Celegorm knew – in his voice.

But his father sounded…jovial?

“I am sorry to impose on your weekend like this, Coach Aldaron, but I’ve been meaning to do this for a while and since I was in the neighborhood, I thought I’d stop by so as not to forget once again.”

“Please don’t worry about it. But forget what, exactly?” Oromë’s voice was easy and polite enough, but Celegorm could hear the underlying tension.

“Ever since we ran into you and your wife before the holidays, I’ve been telling Nerdanel it’s a crime we haven’t made any real show of our appreciation for all you’ve done.”

 _Shit_. Celegorm wished he could thump his head against the door and still go unnoticed. _This is gonna get in his head all right…_ He reached for the bedside table, knocking over a bottle of lube, and grabbed his phone.

_curvo. SOS. this time dads at oromes house._

There was only the briefest of pauses.

_Is that a joke?_

_NO_

_Have you accidentally stumbled into a Shakespearean comedy of errors or something?_

_fuckit curvo this is serious_

_Sorry. But what do you want me to do?_

_you didn’t send him here did you_

_What? Of course not, Tyelko._

_u sure? bc this seems like kinda the thing you would do_

_NO, Tyelko. Haven’t I proven that I’m on your side? You should know that if I’d wanted to undermine you, it would have happened long ago._

_so howd he find this place ? ?_

_The yellow pages, I assume. The internet. Any number of ways. I found the address in a matter of minutes, after all._

_WHY IS HE HERE CURVO WHY IS HE HERE_

_I couldn’t tell you._

 

Frustrated, and still anxious, Celegorm threw his phone down on the bed and listened again.

“As I said the last time we spoke, there’s no way we could ever thank you enough for all you’ve done for Turkafinwë, and I’m sure he’s not the only one on whom you’ve had a profound impact.”

_Nicely put, dad. Oromë’s gonna commit hari-kari with a steak knife now._

“Thank you,” said Oromë, and his voice was definitely strained.

“And what you’ve done with the program at the University has been nothing short of remarkable. You really deserve recognition for that.”

“Oh, it’s hardly a solo effort,” said Oromë, and Celegorm could _hear_ him holding himself together. “I get plenty of recognition, don’t worry.”

“Nevertheless, Nerdanel and I really wanted to register our appreciation properly.” There was the sound of paper tearing smartly along a perforated edge, and Oromë fell so abruptly silent that Celegorm clenched his teeth. “Consider this a gift for the team, and for you – we want to support you and your work however we can.”

“I can’t possibly accept this,” murmured Oromë. “I am beyond honored, Mr. – ”

“Just call me Fëanor, please.”

“ – but I can’t accept this kind of – ”

“Don’t be so polite,” said Fëanor, his voice amused. “I can make the donation to the school in person, or I can give it to you here, but I wanted to let you know that I was making it because of you, and in gratitude for all you’ve done. For the team, for the school, and for our son.”

_Oh, Christ, dad, stop talking._

It seemed like Oromë wasn’t capable of responding.

Fëanor chuckled, and said, “I think I’m going to head out before you find some excuse for rejecting this. Thanks once again, Coach Aldaron. You’ve done incredible work, and this is well-deserved.”

_Just leave, leave, leave…get out of here you old bastard. Even when you’re being generous, you’re fucking shit up for me._

His phone buzzed and Celegorm threw himself on it, suddenly sure that it would be heard from down the hall, where Fëanor was making his exit.

_Well? Any updates?_

_he's leaving. he gave orome MONEY_

_hmmm_

_no fucking SHIT hmmm_

 

Celegorm dropped his phone, the front door finally having clicked shut behind Fëanor. He burst out of the bedroom and down the hall. Oromë was at the counter, leaning forward on his elbows, staring ashen-faced at the small piece of paper in front of him.

A check.

Celegorm took him by the arm and pulled him gently away from the counter. “Babe…”

Oromë raised his eyes to Celegorm’s face. “I can’t possibly take his money.”

“It’s not for _you_ , technically,” said Celegorm, trying to sound light-hearted and reasonable. “It’s for the team.”

“In recognition of all I’ve done,” said Oromë, in a low, miserable voice. “All I’ve done for his son…”

“Knock it off.” Celegorm took Oromë’s face in his hands and kissed him lightly on the lips. “Don’t think about it as a gift for you, it’s for the team – which has been everything he said, you know it has.”

“Would you take his money, if it was you?”

Celegorm snorted. “I take his money all the time. Kind of a different situation, but yeah. You don’t think I’d kill to not rely on him? But you’re not his fuck-up son, and you gotta get out of your head about this. This could be a whole lot worse, okay?”

“How?”

“Excuse me,” came a voice from the entryway, and Celegorm jumped back, his hands dropping from Oromë as if he’d been burned. “Sorry to barge back in, but I think I forgot…my gloves…” Fëanor broke off, staring. “Turko?”

“Dad.” Celegorm stepped swiftly away from Oromë, immediately conscious of his still bare-chested state. “Uh.”

“What – Were you here the whole time?” Fëanor looked honestly baffled, and it was such an unusual look for him that Celegorm felt a hysterical urge to laugh. “Why – ”

But the confusion was rapidly fading as Fëanor’s quick eyes began to take things in. Celegorm felt his heart sink to his feet; he recognized that look. It was the sharp-eyed, undeceived look of someone who had kept him grounded through most of his teenage years; someone who noticed the _details_.

_The wrapper under the seat; a faint smell in his room; an overheard phone conversation; grass stains on his jeans; a cut on his knuckles; a paper squashed to the bottom of his backpack…_

_“What aren’t you telling me, Turkafinwë?”_

_Taking the car to go hook up with girls who weren’t his girlfriend; smoking pot in the house; a plan with lacrosse teammates to pull a borderline dangerous prank; a fight, ANOTHER fight; another failed class…_

_This is gonna trump all those other disappointments, dad._

He could see Fëanor piecing it together; not that it would take even a mind like his father’s to put it all together: The way Celegorm and Oromë had been standing together; Celegorm’s half-dressed state…the door, now open, down the hallway, that gaped onto an utterly disheveled bed…

Fëanor’s eyes went blank with comprehension.

Oromë stood, seeming about to speak, but Fëanor stepped back from him. He addressed Celegorm instead. “Tell me this isn’t what it looks like, Turko.”

“It isn’t,” said Celegorm at once. “I mean, what are you talking about, dad? I’m just – ”

“You know how much I hate you pretending to be stupid,” said Fëanor, dangerously. “Look me in the eye, and _answer_ me.”

“It’s not – ”

“It is,” said Oromë quietly, and Celegorm sagged back, devastated.

“It is what?” said Fëanor, his inflection utterly level. He sounded as dangerously patient as he did when he was waiting for an explanation from one of his sons.  

“It is what it looks like. Tyelko and I are involved.” As he spoke, Oromë met Fëanor’s eyes squarely, his shoulders set and his back straight. Beneath his panic, Celegorm felt a surge of pride and wild love – it was short lived, however, as the fear quickly mounted once more.

Fëanor went white, and his eyes flashed. He couldn’t have been more different from the good-humored, complimentary man who had walked out the door just minutes before. When he spoke, his voice was harsher and more deadly than Celegorm had ever heard it. “You have the nerve to admit such a thing,” he said, barely above a whisper, but every note carrying clearly through the room. “You have the nerve to admit to, to…an _affair_ with my son, while my money lies before you…”

“I imagine you’d prefer it to me lying about my relationship with your son while your money lies before me,” said Oromë, his voice soft but strong, and Celegorm again fought the mad desire to laugh.

“You have a _wife_. I’ve _met_ your wife.”

“This is true. But we are not – ”

“I have no desire to hear about whatever arrangement you might have.” Fëanor drew in a tight breath. “How long has this been going on?”

“Since last summer,” said Celegorm at once. “Like, August? Not that lo-”

Fëanor cut him off. “Did anything happen while Turkafinwë was still in school?”

“No,” said Celegorm emphatically, just as Oromë said, “Yes.”

“Motherfucker,” said Celegorm, exasperated and terrified in equal measure, turning on him. “You’re _killing_ us here, you realize?”

“I’ve lied enough.”

“You certainly have.” Fëanor’s nostrils had flared with barely suppressed rage. “How you could look us in the eyes last month… And yet now you admit to all of this freely? Well. Perhaps that will make the whole process easier for us all when I go to the University.”

“Dad,” croaked Celegorm, the blood suddenly rushing from his head as realization hit him. “Dad, wait…”

“I will be requesting a full investigation,” Fëanor said, ignoring his son. “I will not rest until you are fired, of course, though I shall first demand you be suspended without pay. I will likely be looking into a lawsuit, as well…”

“Dad!” Celegorm sprang forward. “Are you fucking kidding me? Stop, _Jesus_ , stop! He didn’t do anything wrong, I’m of age, I’ve been of age the whole time, he didn’t start it, I did, he tried to end it, I – ”

“Be quiet,” said Fëanor curtly. “If you cannot see all that he has done wrong, then he has clearly taken advantage of and manipulated you...”

“He _hasn’t_!” Celegorm’s hands had curled into fists, and he started for his father, fury and terror crackling across his features.

“Tyelko, no!” Oromë caught him around the waist, holding him back. “Calm down…”

But Fëanor didn’t flinch back from Celegorm, and instead stared at Oromë with pure venom. “ _Keep your hands off my son_.”

Oromë released Celegorm at once, his face falling into unreadable stillness.

Celegorm made a cracked, furious noise. “ _Dad._ ”

“Get your clothes on and get in the car. We’re leaving.”

“Fuck that!”

“Maybe,” said Oromë quietly, “maybe you should go with your father, and talk…”

Celegorm rounded on him. “I don’t give a shit about him! I don’t have to explain myself to him, I’m not his…I’m not his _anything_ , anymore.” He wheeled back to face Fëanor, who had caught sight of the tattoo on his shoulder and had gone even whiter. “I’m _done_ with you having any say in my life, I’m _done_ with you, okay, you don’t get to – ”

“You don’t get to decide when I’m done in your life,” said Fëanor shortly. “And no matter what invective you spew at me, it won’t make me change my mind.” He locked his eyes on Oromë. “There is no way I’m going to let this man get away with taking advantage of the young people who are entrusted to him.”

“Tyelko,” said Oromë again, calm even though he looked as if Fëanor’s last words had hit him like a punch. “Please, I think you should go with your father…”

“I don’t want to go anywhere with him!”

“Maybe,” said Oromë, very softly, as Celegorm glared up at him, “maybe if you talk to him…I don’t see how else this gets sorted out.”

Celegorm stared at him for another moment, then whirled, in silence, and disappeared into the bedroom. He reappeared a moment later, pulling his shirt over his head, his face stony, Huan padding at his side.

“Good,” said Fëanor tersely. “Now get in the car; I’ll join you shortly.” But Celegorm crossed his arms and waited, fully unwilling to let his father and Oromë be alone together for even a minute. Huan went to Fëanor’s side, looking up expectantly, but Fëanor ignored him.

“You’ll be hearing from me,” said Fëanor at last, pinning Oromë with a final look. “Oh, and all things considered, I think I’ll be taking this.” He retrieved the check from the counter and shredded it, leaving the pieces on the floor before he left.

Celegorm cast a final, despairing look over his shoulder at Oromë, and followed his father out the door.

Oromë was left alone in the kitchen, staring at the pieces of paper on the floor. His phone pinged once.

_I love you. No matter what happens._

Nahar leaned quietly against his side, waiting for a familiar hand to descend on his head, but it never did.

“Shit,” said Oromë quietly, and put his head in his hands.

 

* * *

 

Maglor and Caranthir stared at the TV but didn’t even pretend they were absorbing anything on the screen. All their attention was fixed on the kitchen.

“Why won’t you _listen_ to me?”

Maglor had quietly muted the TV, but it was hardly necessary.

“All my fucking life you haven’t given a shit what I’ve had to say – for once will you just shut up _and hear what I‘m telling you?”_

Celegorm had been in the kitchen for almost an hour now, his voice rising as he spoke to someone on the phone, Huan whining and circling anxiously at his feet, following so close that he nearly tripped Celegorm more than once. Finally, in a fit of frustration, Celegorm had thrown the dog into the living room and closed the double-doors to the kitchen.

Maglor had pulled the last of the fringe off the battered pillow in his lap, and Caranthir was flipping a pencil between his fingers so fast it was a blur. Huan was still pacing and whimpering, on each circuit rising up to press his paws against the door, then dropping down again. Celegorm’s voice was loud enough for them to hear every word now, even without the TV muted.

“…you listening now? If you go through with this, that’s _it_. I’m done, I’m gone. I don’t want you in my life. You’ll never see me again. I fuckin’ _promise._ ”

Maglor pulled in a sharp breath, and shot a sidelong glance at Caranthir. Caranthir’s hands were tight on his knees, the pencil snapped between his fingers, and he was staring straight ahead, listening so hard his jaw muscles were working.

“I don’t fucking care!” They both flinched as something crashed in the kitchen. “I don’t fucking care, I don’t _care_ , do you have any idea what you’re – I’m done, I’m out, ENOUGH – ”

Maglor and Caranthir jumped to their feet as something smashed against the closed door. It sounded like Celegorm had hurled his phone across the kitchen.

Huan howled, and Maglor clapped his hands to his ears.

“What should we do,” whispered Caranthir. “What should we – ”

“Call Nelyo,” said Maglor at once. “Call – ”

“What’s going on?” Curufin flashed down the stairs, staring as he was brought up short by the closed kitchen door. “Is that Tyelko?”

Something else smashed against the closed door.

“Yes,” said Maglor, as Caranthir crouched down beside Huan, trying to calm the distraught dog. “Look, you know how he gets. We just need to let him burn through it before we – ”

“To hell with that,” said Curufin, and he wrenched the door open.

 

-

 

Celegorm didn’t know when he’d last felt such rage. It rose behind his eyes, and traced fiery, frozen fingers through his veins, and it was tinged with terror, such terror, that it made him wild. The fear fell like a stone into his stomach, and the rage burned him from the inside out, and _this what must be what going mad feels like._

He hadn’t lost control like this since…

 _The roar of the crowd, the scream of the whistle, the shouts of his teammates, the violence of his fury pushing him on, through the pain, until he could go no further, and the lightning pain in his leg, a leg that was no longer working, for some reason – ‘Fuck, hold him still, is that the bone? Someone call an ambulance!’_ – _was all that ultimately stopped him._

_‘When you’re like this, you tend to keep going until you hurt yourself – or someone else,’ Oromë had told him once, of his anger. ‘I know, I understand, I’ve been there – but you need to remember to breathe, Tyelko.’_

He wasn’t breathing anymore, and everything was falling apart. A plate already lay smashed against the door, mixed with the ruins of his phone, and when a chair came within the path of the ferocious circle he was pacing, he kicked it out of the way with such violence that one of the legs splintered and broke. On the other side of the door, Huan wailed, but Celegorm didn’t hear him.

_Remember to breathe, Tyelko –_

_Remember –_

_– my Tyelko, Tyelkormo, my wild one…_

**_Keep your hands off my son_** **.**

He picked up another plate, wanting to crush it to dust. _I’m done, I’m done, you don’t get to control me anymore, I’m done disappointing you, you should be happy to wash your hands of me, just leave me_ alone _– leave_ us _alone._

_We were happy. And now you’ve broken it! Again!_

There was a muffled hubbub from outside that Celegorm couldn’t hear over the static in his ears, and he hurled the plate away from himself. It left his hand just as the door opened, and sailed clear and true.

It struck Curufin squarely, as perfectly as if it had been aimed.

He dropped like a stone.

 


	38. Baby, it’s some wonderful news

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> /sarcasm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Warnings for description of injury (nothing terribly graphic), and...well, sadness. I think I worked a few jokes in too, though.  
> 1\. In other news, last week's chapter was my most commented on chapter by a factor of approx 5 million, which was very gratifying and a bit stunning. Thank so much to everyone who left a comment! It's really made my whole week. I've always wanted to make someone(s) throw a device across the room, so there's THAT checked off my bucket list...  
> 

 

In the ringing, deadly quiet moment after Curufin fell, Huan let out a bark, and flew across the room. He leapt at Celegorm, front paws hitting him squarely in the chest, pushing him back against the counter, pinning him there.

There was no need, in all honesty. As soon as Curufin had fallen, Celegorm had frozen; stiller, perhaps, than he had ever been in his life.

Maglor and Caranthir were at Curufin’s side in seconds. Maglor dropped to his knees beside their brother, and snapped out, without looking at Celegorm, “Go upstairs, Tyelko. _Now_. We’ll deal with you later.”

Huan dropped back down to all fours and let Celegorm push himself up from the counter. The dog followed close at his heels as Celegorm, silent and white as a sheet, left the kitchen, walking like an automaton up the stairs.

“What do we do?” said Caranthir urgently, crouching down next to Maglor, who was helping Curufin sit up.

Curufin shook his head, dazedly. Blood was running down his face, and there was a deep cut under his eye. “I’m fine,” he muttered. “Get off, Makalaurë.”

“No.” Maglor pulled his shirt over his head and pressed it against the wound. “Moryo, get me some…towels, or gauze, if we have it, and some water. Maybe some ice, too.” Caranthir darted away.

“Stop.” Curufin pushed vainly at Maglor’s hands, but Maglor shook his head.

“You need to hold still, Curvo.”

“Tyelko,” said Curufin indistinctly. “I need to…”

“Don’t worry about him right now,” said Maglor, as Caranthir hurried back with piles of paper towels – and a couple of bath towels to boot. “Listen, we need to take you to the ER – ”

“No,” said Curufin at once. “It’ll go on our insurance, and dad will see. He’ll have questions, and if he hears that Tyelko…No, we can’t. It’s not that bad, stop fussing.” He tried to get to his feet, but Maglor held him down.

“Keep _still_.”

“I’m not going to the hospital, Káno,” said Curufin sharply, flinching as Maglor switched his bloody shirt out for a towel, and Caranthir fumbled in the freezer for some ice packs. “I won’t. It’s entirely unnecessary and do you have any idea what dad would do if he found out?”

Maglor looked conflicted, but hesitated. “We can’t just leave you like this. We at least need to find someone who can make sure you’re okay.”

“Turukáno,” said Caranthir quickly, dropping a pile of ice at Maglor’s feet. “He was an EMT, he’s a med student, he can take a look and patch him up…”

“Yes,” said Maglor as Curufin tried to get to his feet again. Maglor braced a hand on his shoulder and refused to let him rise. “Call him. Call Nelyo too.”

“For _god’s sake_ , we don’t need the whole fucking cavalry – ” Curufin began, but as Maglor briefly took the pressure off his wound, the blood started flowing freely down his face again. Curufin went pale, looking briefly dizzy, and leaned back against the wall. “Fine. Whatever.”

“Where’s a phone – ”

“Use mine,” said Curufin, resignedly. “It’s in my pocket.” He didn’t move, seeming to want to keep his head very still as Maglor re-applied pressure, biting his lip. Caranthir gingerly pulled Curufin’s phone from his pocket and stared at it blankly for a moment.

“It’s locked.”

“Oh, for – ” Curufin sighed impatiently, such a familiar gesture that Caranthir and Maglor briefly exchanged wan, crooked smiles. Curufin rattled off the passcode, and Caranthir typed it in hastily.

“I guess that’s a good sign,” murmured Maglor. “That you can remember a ten digit string.”

“I told you, I’m fine.” But Curufin was still holding very still, and had closed his eyes. “Someone should go check on Tyelko.”

“Let’s focus on this first, okay?” said Maglor quietly. Caranthir was on the phone, looking like he was listening to it ring and tapping his fingers with nervous energy. “He’s got Huan up there with him.”

Curufin shifted restlessly under Maglor’s hands. “I still think…”

“Turno?” Caranthir started upright and began pacing as someone finally picked up on the other hand. “Turno! Listen, where are you? Can you come over?” He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up dark and spiky. “What? No, it’s Moryo, I’m on Curvo’s phone. _No_ , nothing like that. There’s, uh…” he glanced helplessly at his brothers, “…there’s been a bit of an accident. No, everyone’s okay. Mostly. But can you come over and take a look at Curvo? You’ve had first aid training, right? Whoa, shh, stop freaking out, no, no it’s not like that, at least, I don’t think…. We just need someone to check him out. What? Argh, okay, let me…let me think, and I’ll call Nelyo…Maybe he can get you.”

Caranthir’s absent pacing had taken him into the living room, and Maglor turned his attention back to Curufin, who had seized Maglor’s arm urgently. His hand was shaking slightly, but his voice was steady. “You need to let me talk to Tyelko.”

“We will,” whispered Maglor. “But one thing at a time, Curvo.”

 

* * *

 

 

Amarië had her headphones in, so she didn’t hear Andreth’s impatient _tsk_ , or her exasperated sigh, and it wasn’t until she looked up that she saw her, standing with her arms folded, in front of the treadmill. Amarië pressed ‘cool down’ and slowed to a walk, trying not to blush. She pulled her earbuds out, letting them dangle around her neck.

“Amarië…”

“Hey, Andreth,” Amarië said, trying to sound cheery, and like she had no idea why Andreth was looking at her in accusation. “What’s up?”

“What’s up is that you’re not supposed to be running, girl. Ten days, remember?”

“Ten days no basketball practice and no ballet,” said Amarië, trying to sound reasonable and only achieving cagey. “A little bit of jogging isn’t going to…”

“Off the treadmill.”

“But – ”

“Off.”

Resigned, Amarië stepped off the machine and immediately listed to the side as her ankle protested.

“You doofus.” Andreth took her arm and hauled her upright, leading her gently but firmly to a bench by the weight machines. “Are you doing your stretches, at least?”

“I should never have told you my PT’s plan,” muttered Amarië. “You are being such a mom about this, I swear.”

“Turnabout is fair play,” said Andreth, unmoved. “You mothered me plenty through my breakup last year – not to mention that horrible bout of norovirus Haleth and I got last semester – so it’s about time I returned the favor.”

“But you have already been mothering me through _my_ breakup, so let’s call it even.”

“Yes, but all that’s done is give me a chance to make angry noises about Arafinwion boys again, so that’s as much a favor to me as it is to you. Anyway, let’s call it time to get some ice.”

Amarië stretched her legs out in front of her and tried to discretely wipe sweat off her face with her tee shirt while Andreth disappeared briefly. She was secretly relieved to have an excuse to stop; whatever protests she might make, her Achilles had been tweaking painfully, and her lungs were unhappy in the muggy air of the gym. Andreth came back with enough bags of ice to chill a small keg and a slightly amused expression on her face.

“Nice Winnie the Pooh shirt, by the way.”

“I like Pooh,” said Amarië defensively.

“If I was as immature as my roommate, I’d make a joke about that phrase.”

“Shhh.” Amarië plucked at the tee shirt in question, her go-to for bad moods or laundry day. “Even Haleth wouldn’t stoop so low.”

Andreth shook her head, smiling, and knelt in front of Amarië to start wrapping her calf and ankle with ice. “You give her WAY too much credit, then.”

 

* * *

 

Turgon sat sidewise on a machine that appeared to be for lifting weights with one’s groin, and scribbled some notes in his journal, trying to get his observations down before they faded. He only looked up when a large man, who looked like he’d done quite a bit of groin strengthening already, glowered him, and got hastily out of his way. As he shoved his notebook back into his backpack, he noticed the two girls sitting across the way – Andreth, and Amarië.

He hesitated a moment, then slung his bag over his shoulder and crossed the room. “Hey, Amarië.”

Amarië, who’d been laughing at something Andreth was saying, looked up, and her smile faded. “Turukáno. What are you doing here?”

“I’m shadowing one of the orthopedic surgeons who has a rotation here.” Turgon intended to say something else, ask about her injury, maybe, or acknowledge Andreth, quiet and curious at Amarië’s feet, but instead what came out was, “Listen, what was that voicemail about?”

- 

He’d gotten it after a long day of classes, and listened to it on the bus ride home.

 _“Turukáno? It’s Amarië._ ” Even through the tinny speaker of his phone, her voice had sounded tight and unnaturally steady. _“I know…well, I don’t know how serious you were, so maybe I’m an idiot that I even considered it… but I know we were making noises about you maybe moving into Elinel’s old room, and I just – It’s not going to work. It’s not going to_ work _. I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess maybe you were just joking around anyway. But just in case you actually thought … Look, I can’t. You can’t. We can’t do it.”_

- 

“Was there something unclear about the message?” Amarië’s voice had that unnatural steadiness again, now, and Andreth was looking between them, a slightly concerned tilt to her eyebrows.

“It’s really okay that you don’t want me to live with you,” said Turgon, “or if you found someone else, but…you sounded…did something happen? You sounded almost like you were angry with me…”

“I wasn’t angry,” said Amarië, though she sounded a little angry now. “I had just…Do you really need an explanation?”

“I wouldn’t _mind_ one.”

“I ran into Finrod, okay? I was with Galadriel, and I ran into him, and I thought I was going to be okay, but I _wasn’t_ , I can’t even _look_ at him, and I’ve been avoiding Galadriel for a week now because I’m so scared that if I see her I’ll see _him_ again, I can’t go to her place because he _lives_ there, and sometimes I don’t even want to walk around campus because apparently I’m too much of a coward to even run the risk of bumping into my ex!” Amarië’s voice had gotten louder, and a couple people glanced across the gym at her, curious. Andreth laid a hand on her knee, and Amarië dropped her voice again, her cheeks red. “You’re his best friend; you’re his _cousin_. And I was thinking about you living with me, and thinking about being terrified to go home, or to come out of my room because _he_ might be there, and I don’t think I could stand it. My apartment is my safe place right now. And if you were there, he might be there, and it wouldn’t be, anymore…” She trailed off, and Turgon bit his lip, contrition and disappointment unexpectedly washing through him.

“I…I’m sorry.”

“It’s not YOUR fault.” She still sounded angry, and Turgon couldn’t tell who it was directed at – him, or Finrod, or herself. “I should be over this already, shouldn’t I? It’s not your fault I’m so emotionally…. _stupid_.”

“You’re not,” murmured Andreth.

“No, you’re not,” Turgon agreed. “It makes sense that you’d feel that way…But,” he couldn’t keep from trying again. “But I could – we could work something out so that he’d never – ”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Turno,” said Amarië wearily. “We can’t make an ‘approved guests’ list for you to observe if you live with me, or some ridiculous special schedule so that I never cross paths with your best friend. It’s just not going to work.”

Turgon’s phone rang, making the other people in the gym look around again. He tried to mute it without pulling it out of his pocket. “I wish that we could figure out…”

“Leave it be,” said Andreth quietly.

“But – ” Turgon’s phone was still ringing.

Amarië looked at him, and now she just looked tired and sad rather than angry. “You should really get that.”

“What? Ah, fine.” Distracted, Turgon dragged his phone out and answered it, only half paying attention. “Hello. Wait, what? Who is this?” He pulled his phone away from his ear to frown at the caller ID, puzzled. “…Is this Curvo? _Moryo?_ ” Shooting a nervous glance at Amarië, he turned away and lowered his voice. “Why are you calling me? Um, is this something to do with… _What_? What happened? Is everyone okay? Why are you calling me, shouldn’t you call an ambulance or – what? Okay. Okay. I’ll come over. But wait, shit,” he had turned in a full circle by now, completely having lost track of where he was, and was facing Amarië again, who was watching him, big-eyed. “I’m way over at the East Campus and I don’t have a car. The bus runs every 40 minutes, but… _Yes_. Call him. If he can’t, maybe Findekáno can.”

He hung up and stared at the phone for a little while, while Amarië and Andreth waited.

“I…I have to go. I…” He glanced around, pulling his fingers through his hair, a nervous tic that he had never been able to break, despite the snarls it left. “Do you think they have first aid kits here?”

 

* * *

 

 

The kitchen was warm and still filled with maple syrup smells, Fingon’s famed challah French toast reduced to soggy crumbs on the plates dumped in the sink from hours ago.

“More coffee?”

“If I have more I’ll vibrate across the room.”

“Mmm, could be exciting.” Fingon winked, but set the carafe back in the coffee maker. “Ahhh, nothing like taking the day off work, sleeping in and being decadent…” He stretched luxuriantly, and Maedhros, who was propped on one of their high stools, eyed him.

“It’s 25 degrees out. Aren’t you cold without a shirt?”

Fingon kept stretching a little longer than necessary, and Maedhros rolled his eyes – but also didn’t look away. “Ah, but you keep me warm, Nelyo.” He clapped a dramatic hand to his breast. “Oh, but the heat of my love doth keep the blood hot in my veins, and yea, the throb of my cock as well – ”

Maedhros wrinkled his nose. “Never do Shakespeare.”

Fingon let his hand fall and sighed. “I get no respect.”

“None.” Maedhros drank the last cold dregs of his coffee and made a face. “And frankly none is deserved, you hack. You are being particularly weird today.”

“I am being lively and invigorated. I get excited anytime I can take a day off work in the middle of the week.”

“I told you,” Maedhros began. “You didn’t need to do that. It’s only…”

“Shh.” Fingon leaned over the counter and pressed a finger to Maedhros’ lips. “I needed the excuse, okay? You know how many six day weeks I’ve been pulling?”

“Yes.”

“Right.” Fingon let his finger linger on Maedhros’ lower lip and Maedhros indulged him, letting his lips part slightly so Fingon’s finger could brush against his tongue. “Hmm. Yes. Anyway, I promised you – as soon as you quit that job you hate so much, we have a celebration. I take off work, we spend the day naked…”

“Again, it’s 25 degrees…”

“Not in the house, you wimp, and anyway, we weren’t technically supposed to leave the bed after we got back in after breakfast.”

“I got hungry,” said Maedhros wistfully. “I’m still hungry. Is the pizza heated up yet?”

Fingon pulled his hand regretfully back and turned to the toaster oven, where a small frozen pizza was warming. “You’ve still got a few more minutes, babe.”

“Damn.” Maedhros sighed and stretched his legs out. “But I didn’t quit my job, Finno, you know that. I just cut back to a couple shifts a week at the bar.”

“Hey, is one of those shifts the night that depressing old drunk comes in and raves at you about his ex wives?”

“No.”

“See? Progress. Cause for celebration!” Fingon spun the butter knife he’d been using to poke at the pizza, and flipped it once in the air before catching it expertly.  “And most of all, we’re celebrating you taking courses at the University two days a week…”

“I can’t believe I have to start doing homework again.”

“…and working afternoons at the after school program.” Fingon pointed the knife at Maedhros accusingly. “Don’t you dare undersell this, Mae. You’ve figured out something you really want to try and make work, and you’re doing everything you need to do to make it happen. You’re getting hands on experience, you’re working on a degree – in a year or so you could be a teacher.”

“That depends on a lot of things.”

“Stop being such a defeatist. Be happy, motherfucker, be proud.”

Maedhros allowed himself a smile. “Fine. I’m happy. Instead of working 30 hours a week at the bar, I’m going to be doing a reading group with elementary schoolers. That will likely have more job satisfaction, right? And I’m going to be leading a poetry and music writing group for the kids along with some other twenty-something who works for the program...”

“Oh yeah? You didn’t mention that part. Who is it?”

“Uh, I don’t know yet.” Maedhros got up and pulled a folder out of his bag by the door. “Rúmil gave me these when I came in to sign my paperwork but I haven’t looked through them yet. Let’s see who I’ll be working with…”

He scanned the papers, and his eyes hit a name halfway down the page. “Huh.”

“What?” The toaster binged and Fingon opened it, trying to lever the pizza out with a butter knife and his bare fingers. “OUCH.”

“I recognize this name. This is…I swear this is the girl from open mic night. The girl Makalaurë liked. Ríanellë…” His voice trailed off, and Fingon yelped as molten cheese got on his hand.

“Damn everything, OW.” He sucked at his finger and looked up at Maedhros. “What is it?”

“Her last name,” said Maedhros slowly. “It’s very familiar…”

“Yeah? She another cousin?” Fingon grinned, but stopped as Maedhros slid the paper over to him.

“Recognize this?”

Fingon frowned. “Yeah, I think I do. But what from? Why is that so familiar?”

“That’s because it was one of the last names of the plaintiffs on the civil suit brought against my father and the company. The families of the victims of Alqualondë. Remember?”

“Oh, shit _._ That’s gonna be – ” Fingon started to say more, but a high-pitched ring cut him off. “Is that you?”

Maedhros was still staring at the name on the sheet of paper. “Hmm?”

“Your phone, Maitimo. Your phone is ringing.”

Maedhros didn’t move, and Fingon sighed and reached across the counter to grab the cell phone. He glanced down at it. “It’s your little brother.”

Maedhros snapped back to attention. “Which – ”

“Curvo.”

The line between Maedhros’ brows deepened. “He never calls me. What could make him…” He took the phone from Fingon and answered it. “Hello? Curvo? What’s going on?”

_“It’s not Curvo, it’s Moryo.”_

“Moryo?” Maedhros exchanged baffled looks with Fingon. “What are you doing calling me on Curvo’s phone?”

_“Do you have a car?”_

“Yeah…or at least, Findekáno does…”

_“Good. We need you to go pick up Turukáno at the gym on East Campus and bring him over here.”_

“Over where? Why? Wait, _Turukáno_? Why him?”

Caranthir voice sounded tight with anxiety. _“Over here, Nelyo, our place. We need Turukáno to take a look at Curvo…there’s been an accident.”_

Fingon watched the blood drain from Maedhros’ face, and Maedhros leaned forward, bracing his fist on the counter. “ _What happened_ , Moryo?”

 _“There’s no time to get into it now!”_ Fingon could hear Caranthir’s voice loud and urgent, filtering down the line. _“Look, go get Turukáno and come over here and we’ll explain.”_

“Mor – ” But Caranthir had hung up.

But Fingon was already grabbing his shirt, and his and Maedhros’ jackets from the rack. “Don’t ask questions right now, babe. I’ll drive, you can try your brothers again as we go. And call my brother while you’re at it.”

 

* * *

 

 

Curufin was still sitting where he’d fallen, propped against the kitchen door. Maglor, acting on some vague notion that in case Curufin had suffered a head injury – “Are you fucking kidding me? You are so ridiculous, Makalaurë,” Curufin had said waspishly, having gone sharp-edged and terse to distract himself from his shaking hands – had insisted that he shouldn’t be moved.

Turgon knelt down before him at once, and Maglor slid back out of the way. Maedhros, coming through the door and seeing the pile of bloody towels and Maglor’s ruined shirt, let out a wordless exclamation of horror.

“It looks worse than it is,” Maglor said quickly, grabbing his arm. “I think. Let’s give them space okay?”

“If someone doesn’t tell me what happened _right now -”_

Turgon ignored everything going on around him as Maglor recounted the story in a low voice to Maedhros and Fingon, who’d come in behind Maedhros and had laid a steadying hand on the small of his back. Caranthir was still prowling restlessly around the living room.

“You’re probably shaking because you’re in shock,” said Turgon quietly to Curufin. “It’ll pass; it’s just your body dealing with – ”

“Spare me the medical lecture, I know what shock is,” said Curufin nastily. “Just do whatever you need to do to convince my brothers I’m not going to drop dead.”

Turgon ignored the tone and set to work cleaning the wound as Curufin dug his nails into his palms and tried not to flinch.

 

In the living room, Maedhros was still trying to absorb what Maglor had told him.

“Wait, Tyelko did this?” Fingon was staring at Maglor. “Why?”

“It was an accident,” Maglor said, for at least the fourth time. “He was…he was scary, Nelyo, he was so angry…”

“What on earth could have made him that angry?” asked Fingon, not taking his hand from Maedhros’ back.

“I think,” said Maglor quietly, still looking at Maedhros. “I think it had something to do with Oromë.”

 

* * *

 

Celegorm was sitting on the edge of his bed, Huan curled around his feet. His hands rested loosely on his knees, open and empty. He stared down at them sightlessly. He hadn’t moved in almost an hour, his mind gone white and staticky with shock. Every time he started to sweep the fog back and reflect on what had happened, his subconscious flinched away, the pain overwhelming him.

_Curvo Curvo Curvo_

_Little brother – this isn’t how it’s supposed to happen._

_I’m supposed to take care of you; you are never supposed to get hurt. That’s what I’m here to prevent._

He let the static sweep back.; he never wanted to think again.

The door creaked open.

Turgon had tracked Curufin’s eye movements with a small flashlight, something Curufin had endured with poor grace, and said dubiously that he didn’t think there were any signs of concussion. His cut had been skillfully taped together with butterfly bandages by Turgon, with instructions to ice the swollen areas around the cut itself, but a bruise was already starting to blossom on his cheekbone. It stood out lividly against his pale skin, and his eye was slightly swollen and starting to close.

Celegorm looked up at him, and let out a choked sound of pure misery. Tears began to leak from his eyes.

Curufin crossed the room swiftly and sat on the bed next to him. “I’m fine,” he said. “I really am. It looks worse than it is.”

“ _Curvo_.”

“Turukáno says it’s not deep, and stitches aren’t necessary.” This wasn’t entirely true – Turgon had _highly recommended_ going to someone who could stitch him up, but Curufin had flat-out refused. Turgon had made do with the bandages and a lot of Betadine. Curufin was being careful to avoid mirrors, but wasn’t letting himself worry about what he must look like.

“It was just an accident, I know you didn’t mean it. I’m totally okay.”

Celegorm shook his head frantically.

“I really am.” And, because he knew it was what was needed, Curufin opened his arms and pulled Celegorm against him, until his brother shivered out of rigidity and slumped into his arms.

Celegorm’s hands clutched at Curufin’s back so tightly Curufin winced, and he buried his face in Curufin’s shoulder, his back shaking with sobs.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, into Curufin’s shirt. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, _I’m sorry_ …”

“It’s okay,” said Curufin, over and over, running a hand over his hair, and the back of his neck, trying to put all the soothing tones Celegorm had ever used on him into his voice. “It’s okay, Tyelko, it’s going to be okay.”

But Celegorm held onto him, shaking with remorse and grief, and Curufin couldn’t think of a single other thing to say or do.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2\. So! I tend to update every Thursday, yeah? So far this seems to have been working for me pretty well, which continues to surprise me. I have the next two chapters after this written or drafted too, so expect at least two more weeks of regular updates. But I'd feel remiss if I didn't warn that eventually I will be unable to update with the same regularity. Don't worry, I have PLENTY of plot, this story ain't gonna be abandoned, but I have other projects to work on and some things in this story are going to prove fidgety to write, so...my pace might slow. I'll try and warn in advance if the weekly updates are going to slack off. But the good news is that there is no end in sight for DWMP. I have more ideas than I know what to do with, frankly...


	39. Just a taste of your skin starts the healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let’s invade a bunch of couples’ personal space, shall we?  
> Because why NOT set up a bunch of scenes where everyone’s in bed? I’m a real writer, I swear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. There is a good deal of bed-talk in this chapter – nothing massively explicit, but sexual content heavily implied and a fair amount of physical intimacy (make-outs and the like, with at least one scene that’s pretty much everything but explicit sex). Also brief mention of how a person with sexual trauma in their past deals with sexual intimacy, but nothing of the trauma in question is detailed.  
> 1\. There is also some pot smoking.  
> 2\. …I swear this is a chapter with content and not only sex and drugs. I just had fun framing a bunch of character interactions with 1) nudity and 2) doobies.

Someone was shaking her lightly. “Artanis!”

Galadriel rolled away from the touch, burying herself under the blankets. Someone fumbled after her, and a familiar voice called her name again, and finally, fingers gingerly pinched her nose.

She sat bolt upright, gasping. “ _What_ – ”

Celeborn was sitting up next to her, watching her with soft, serious eyes. “You were grinding your teeth again,” he said apologetically. “And…flailing, a bit.”

“Oh.” Galadriel raised her hand to her jaw, which did indeed feel tight and a little achy. It must have been a bad night for it. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve been sleeping badly for days,” said Celeborn gently. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” she said, and lay down again. But she rested her head against his chest and felt him lift a hand to run it over her hair.

She lay awake as she listened to his breaths slow and deepen; heard the steady, rhythmic thud of his heart beneath her ear. She waited to be lulled back into sleep by its familiar beat, but sleep was proving, as Aredhel had once put it to her, an elusive son of a bitch. Finally, she pulled herself carefully free of Celeborn, who sighed and turned over in his sleep. She brushed his hair, silvery fine in the moonlight, out of his eyes, and bent down to kiss him on the temple. Then she straightened up and went out into the hall.

In her overlarge nightshirt (stolen from Finarfin, and reading, _My wife went to med school and all I got was this t-shirt and financial security_ ), she drifted aimlessly around the apartment like a tall, pale ghost, her bare feet falling in what she thought of as her insomnia superhighway. She could have walked the path with her eyes closed. Around the outside of the living room, letting her hand pass over the backs of the armchairs – twenty five steps; around the kitchen, wincing slightly as she felt the crumbs under her bare feet – twelve steps. _Whose turn is it to sweep? We haven’t shifted the chore chart in weeks…_ Around the living room again, on the inside this time, stepping over the pile of Finrod’s books and around the sawhorses Aegnor had set up to wax his skis – fifteen steps. On her third circuit, she couldn’t help but glance towards Finrod’s room – the door hung open, and the room beyond was quite obviously empty. She told herself she didn’t care where he was – though she suspected she knew – and went back to her bedroom, her jaw already set, a headache building in her temples.

_Why do you bother worrying over him?_

As she laid her hand on the doorknob, the door across the hall creaked open, and Aegnor looked out, his hair standing straight up all over his head, his eyes sleepy.

“Oh, it’s you.” Aegnor stifled a yawn and scrubbed up his hair even further. “I thought maybe…”

“He’s not home.”

“Yeah.” Aegnor eyed the door to their older brother’s room, and sighed. “What else is new. You have the anti-sleeps again?”

Galadriel’s lips twitched at the name that Eärwen had coined for the insomnia that had plagued her oldest son and only daughter all their lives. “I suppose so.”

Aegnor gestured towards her room. “Your boy in there?”

“Yes.” Galadriel pulled her nightshirt back over her shoulder, where it was slipping down. “It’s good he’s an easy sleeper, or all my thrashing would make him sleep as badly as I do.”

Aegnor looked thoughtful, and like he was struggling with something. “Y’know what I would suggest? If you _weren’t_ my baby sister?”

“What’s that?”

Aegnor smiled crookedly. “I’d suggest waking your boy up and going to town on each other.”

“ _Aiko_.”

“Yeah, pretend I didn’t say it. Even though it would probably help. And if you do take the advice I definitely didn’t offer, please _god_ keep it down so I can’t hear.” He turned and went back into his room, saying over his shoulder, “More effective than a warm glass of milk and counting your steps, I bet.”

Galadriel stood thoughtfully in the hallway, hand still on the doorknob. Then she pushed it open, and stepped into the dark room. “Telepë,” she whispered. “Are you awake?”

“Hmnh. ‘m now. D’you wanna talk aft’rall?”

“No.” Galadriel slid onto the bed, her knees pressing down the blankets on either side of his waist. “But I’d be interested in some active _not_ talking with you.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Ahh.” Aredhel settled her chin down contentedly, and Elenwë laughed and pulled her hair.

“You’re poking me, you sharp-chinned harpy.”

“Shh,” murmured Aredhel, her eyes closing as she laid her head on Elenwë’s thigh. “You like when I poke you.”

“Not like that.” Elenwë tugged her hair again, but stopped as Aredhel opened her eyes and lifted her head.

Aredhel was settled between Elenwë’s bare legs, the two of them sprawled content and happy in the nest of blankets strewn over Elenwë’s bed. Aredhel wrapped her arms under Elenwë’s hips and tugged her down, like she was arranging a pillow into a more comfortable position. She pressed an affectionate kiss to Elenwë’s soft belly, nuzzling against the light blonde hair running down from her belly button. Then she turned her attention to the curves over Elenwë’s hips, paying particular attention to the sweet white lines that striped Elenwë’s golden-brown skin. Aredhel ran her tongue along the stretch marks, tracing the lines like they were some sort of secret alphabet and making small happy noises as she did so, and Elenwë once again lost the battle with laughter.

“Ireth, you’re _tickling_ , I told you – ”

“’s not my fault,” said Aredhel, her voice muffled as she nuzzled against Elenwë’s warm flesh. “’s totally your fault for being all…edible.”

“Edible? I – ow!” Elenwë gave an exclamation as Aredhel nipped at her, and reflexively clamped her legs tight against Aredhel’s shoulders.

“Oof.” Aredhel tried to wriggle free, and failed. “Ah. Help.”

“Don’t mess with dancers,” said Elenwë warningly. “For we have legs like steel traps and I _will_ snap you in half.”

“Please don’t,” said Aredhel pathetically. “I need both my halves. _You_ need both my halves.”

“I could just take the half without a pokey chin and sharp teeth and a big mouth.”

“You _like_ my big mouth.” Aredhel waggled her eyebrows and discretely tried to pull free again, but Elenwë crossed her ankles at Aredhel’s shoulder blades and refused to budge. “Oomph.  I just spent two hours demonstrating all the reasons you like my big mouth…”

Elenwë yawned deliberately, and dug her heels into Aredhel’s back. “What have we established about tickling?”

“It’s cute? And it makes you laugh in this really appealing way like you’re going to die?”

“ _Sadist_. It’s torture, and it will earn you a kick in the face.”

Aredhel was about to make a clever and obnoxious rejoinder, when she remembered all the less spoken, more serious rules that Elenwë followed without question or hesitation –

( _There are times when I won’t take my clothes off to make love, please don’t make me, please don’t ask;_

_there will be times I do not want anything in me, however gentle or loving, not there;_

_while I will do anything to you, ever, happily, sometimes I need you to not touch me, at all, no, not even like that;_

_I need to be able to see everything, always, I cannot make love in darkness, you cannot cover my eyes…_

_And more, so many more, and the rules changed all the time, and Elenwë was always patient, and never troubled by them, and Aredhel loved her so much it felt like a fist, clenched tight beneath her ribs…)_

– and she closed her mouth.

Elenwë was watching her, her brown eyes curious, and still lit with laughter and a hint of warning – she was serious about the tickling – and Aredhel kissed her belly repentantly.

“Okay, no tickling. I promise.”

Elenwë smiled and unwrapped her legs so that Aredhel could pull herself up to drape over Elenwë’s body. “That’s better.”

They kissed softly in the dim light of the scarf-draped lamp by the bed, only breaking apart when Aredhel’s phone rang. She groaned reluctantly against Elenwë’s lips, but pulled away.

Elenwë made a quiet noise of complaint. “Can’t it wait?”

“I’m on Arko watch this weekend,” said Aredhel, pushing herself up and sliding half off Elenwë to stretch out for her phone. “I’m on call for any potential bail-outs or trips to the ER…his frat brothers have me on speed-dial.”

Elenwë shook her head. “You three enable him.”

“We three keep the little mofo _alive_. Anyway,” Aredhel finally managed to grab her phone and drag it to her ear. “Hello?”

Elenwë curled onto her side to watch as Aredhel frowned and sat up, pulling free of Elenwë. “…Finno? What’s up? Uh, no…I haven’t talked to him in a couple days. He hasn’t even been answering my texts, not that that’s anything new. Though usually it’s a matter of hours, not _days_. Wait, are you saying something’s up with him? _What_? No. _No_. He did wh – _he threw_ – did anyone – Oh, _fuck_. FUCK.”

Aredhel was sitting on the side of the bed now, hunched over and intent, her hair slipping, tangled and wild, over her shoulders, the little braids Elenwë had put in it earlier slowly unwinding.

“He’s going to fucking kill himself over this. He’s going to be a fucking mess. Have you seen him? Is this to do with – Hang on, do you know about the whole – Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter. I gotta...”

Not even bothering to hang up, Aredhel dropped the phone to the bed and began searching for her pants. She located them and hopped around pulling them over her hips as Elenwë quietly hit ‘end’ for her.

“What’s going on?”

"Disaster, potentially." Aredhel found her shirt but failed to find her bra, so went without. “I’m really sorry to just fly out, but…I gotta go.” She pulled the scarf from the lamp and wound it around her hair. “I think I’m needed.” She gave Elenwë one last, lingering kiss, said, “I swear I’ll make this up to you,” and was gone.

 

* * *

 

 

Caranthir pulled a rolling paper from the pack in front of him and laid it flat on his desk so he could shake the requisite amount of weed into it. He rolled it up meticulously, wetting the paper with his tongue to seal it. _Mindless, repetitive, vaguely tedious work that he could be needlessly meticulous over_  - it was times like these that he felt he could most identify with Curufin. _I can see why it helps to be obsessively focused on dumb little things sometimes – it keeps you from thinking about the shit you’d rather not think about._

_Curvo would agree._

For some reason, whenever he tried to think about his younger brother, all he could see was Celegorm’s white, stricken face, the numb horror wiping his expressive face blank.

It was somehow a more disturbing image than the bruises and blood, though that was disturbing enough… Caranthir shook his head, trying to refocus, and returned to his task.

There was a light knock on the door, and he looked up as it was pushed open. He had a feeling he knew who it was going to be, and he wasn’t wrong.

“Hope I’m not interrupting,” said Finrod softly, closing the door behind him and pausing briefly, hands clasped behind him, holding the doorknob.

Caranthir ran his tongue over his teeth before answering, thoughts flickering. “Nah,” he said. “It’s fine.”

Finrod crossed the room, and briefly looked as though he wanted to reach out for Caranthir, but didn’t. Caranthir wasn’t sure if he felt bothered or relieved by this restraint. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Caranthir said awkwardly. “I’ve been wicked busy…”

“It’s okay, so I have I.” Finrod sat down, rather heavily, on Caranthir’s bed and swung his legs around so he could stretch out. Caranthir licked the paper on another joint and pressed it down. It was clearly going to be one of those evenings, when Finrod had that exhausted look in his eyes and wasn’t his usual bright and wicked self, where he would curl up on Caranthir’s bed and watch Caranthir as he worked, perhaps drifting into sleep. Caranthir got the sense that Finrod was not always good at being alone, and sometimes simply needed another body in the room. He couldn’t say he minded, honestly. Especially when Finrod’s quiet presence grew closer and turned into…Caranthir blinked and lined the joints up so they were in a perfectly straight line.

 _Careful_.

“You’re a very diligent distributor,” said Finrod, clearly trying for lightheartedness and only achieving mild weariness, as he watched Caranthir set the newest joint in a row with the others.

“It’s just to keep my hands busy,” said Caranthir, and felt the need to be honest. “I’ve been all…twitchy, ever since…you know.”

“I know what?”

“The…accident thing.”

Finrod sat up, pushing himself up on his elbows. “The what?”

Caranthir stared at him. “Uhh. Didn’t Turukáno tell you? I thought for sure he’d…”

“I have a missed call from Turno,” said Finrod, looking blank. “I know I need to call him back, but I haven’t yet. Carnistir, what happened?” He got to his feet and crossed the room, laying a hand on Caranthir’s shoulder. He tilted Caranthir’s chin up slightly so he could search his eyes. “Are you all right? Did something happen?”

Caranthir slid his eyes away from the concern in Finrod’s face. “Not to me.”

Finrod seemed to relax slightly, but he still looked worried. “To whom, then?” His fingers stroked absently against Caranthir’s cheek before dropping to his shoulder.

“Curvo. He – ”

“ _What_?” Whatever Finrod had been expecting, it wasn’t that, because he went dead white, and his fingers clutched spasmodically at Caranthir’s flesh. “What do you mean? What happened? Is he okay? Where is he, is he – ”

“He’s upstairs,” said Caranthir, a little perplexed. “He’s okay, or at least Turno says so.”

Finrod didn’t seem to realize his fingers were digging into Caranthir’s shoulder. “What kind of accident? What exactly happened?”

Caranthir pulled out of Finrod’s grasp, wincing, and Finrod, seeming to notice at last he’d been gripping Caranthir painfully hard, dropped his hand to his side. But his skin was still pale and his eyes flickered between Caranthir and the ceiling over his shoulder, as if he could see through the floorboards and across the house to Curufin’s room.

“It was Tyelko,” said Caranthir slowly. “Yesterday. He lost it. I dunno if you’ve ever seen Tyelko lose it, but…”

“I’ve heard stories.”

“…he wasn’t mad at Curvo, it was something to do with dad, and…it doesn’t really matter what, I guess. But he was trashing the kitchen, totally batshit crazy, and Curvo went in to try and talk to him.”

“And?”

“And Tyelko caught him with a plate, right in the face.”

Finrod sucked in a breath and sat down very abruptly on the edge of the bed.

“He didn’t mean to,” Caranthir hastened to add. “Fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so…when he saw what he’d done. But anyway, it took Curvo OUT.”

“Oh, god.” Finrod’s hands clenched in front of him, like he was trying to keep them from shaking.

“That’s why we called Turukáno. Curvo flat out refused to go to the hospital, but Káno said we had to get someone to look at him…Turno says he probably doesn’t have a concussion, and he taped up the cut and all.”

“Surely he needs stitches.” Finrod’s voice was sharp, almost angry. “Surely…”

“Turno said it’d be good to get them, but it’s not necessary. And, well, you know Curvo. He said he was fine and wouldn’t let us do anything more.”

“The stubborn little idiot,” said Finrod tightly.

Caranthir shrugged. “Yeah, he is. But we can’t FORCE him.”

“You could try.” Finrod took another breath and seemed to be steadying himself. “No, but if Turukáno didn’t see a need to take him to someone for real…No, I’m sure it’s not that bad then. Turno’s very conservative about that kind of thing. He plays it safe.”

“That’s what we figured.”

Finrod closed his eyes briefly. “He’s upstairs, you say?”

“He didn’t get much sleep last night - well, who would, with Makalaurë popping in every five minutes to check if you’re still breathing? But I think he finally passed out tonight and Káno’s letting him sleep. He was in Tyelko’s room a while…”

Finrod nodded, but he appeared to be thinking hard.

“It was fucked up,” said Caranthir quietly. “I’ve never seen Tyelko like that – not that bad. But it was even scarier when he saw what he’d done…I’ve never…I didn’t think he could even….I can’t imagine what he must feel like right now. I can’t believe Curvo went to talk to him. I’d be so pissed…”

“They’re close,” said Finrod absently.

“Yeah, I guess that’s why I can’t relate,” said Caranthir, his bitterness returning. “I don’t think I have anyone who cares enough to forgive me if I walloped them with–”

“Don’t be silly,” said Finrod softly. He reached forward and laid his hand on Caranthir’s knee. “Any one of your brothers would forgive you under such circumstances.”

“I dunno.”

“I would.”

Caranthir smiled crookedly. “Guess if I’m gonna hit anyone with a projectile, then it should be you, huh.”

Finrod gave him a wan smile in return. “I’d appreciate if we didn’t test the theory, however.” He sat back again, and dragged his hand through his hair, his bangs falling into his eyes as his hand dropped to his side again. “Would…would you mind if we shared one of those?” He gestured to the neat row of rolled joints.

Caranthir glanced down. “You wanna get high?”

“Just…something to take the edge off. I’ve been a little tightly wound. Unless I’m cutting into your inventory, of course.”

“Nah, that’s fine.” Caranthir selected a joint and held it out to Finrod, who looked almost queasy and whose fingers were tapping fitfully on his knees. “I wouldn’t mind, myself.”

He flicked a lighter open as Finrod held the joint to his lips and breathed in deeply, a simple gesture that was unexpectedly stirring. He held the smoke in his lungs a long time, eyes closed, before turning his head and blowing out a long stream of smoke.

Caranthir realized he was staring at Finrod’s mouth. “Hey, that was a waste.”

“What? Oh, sorry.” Finrod gave a ghost of a smile, and took another drag. This time, instead of blowing out the smoke, he leaned forward and covered Caranthir’s lips with his own, exhaling against Caranthir’s intake of breath.

Caranthir let his eyes close. “Yeah, that’s better.”

“It is, isn’t it,” murmured Finrod. He pulled back slightly, his forehead still tilted against Caranthir’s, the hand holding the joint between them.

Caranthir let the smoke linger for a while before bending down and taking the end of the joint in his lips, brushing against Finrod’s fingers in the process.

The shadows seemed to grow longer with the swirling smoke, and Caranthir and Finrod slowly grew more interested in each other’s mouths than the joint, enjoying long, lingering kisses as they exchanged breaths, Caranthir eventually pulling Finrod astride his lap. Despite the languorous effects of the weed, there was still something wound tight and sharp in Finrod, and though his lips and tongue were lazy against Caranthir’s, there was a desperation in the way his hands fisted in Caranthir’s shirt and hair.

“I want you to fuck me,” he breathed, at last, as Caranthir, lightheaded off his most recent hit, dragged open-mouthed kisses against Finrod’s neck.

“What? I mean, yeah, hell yeah, I can do that.” Caranthir wrapped his arms around Finrod’s waist and leaned forward experimentally to see if he could stand. Somewhat to his surprise, he could, and Finrod clung tightly to his neck, legs wrapping easily around his waist as Caranthir carried him over to the bed and tumbled them both down on the blankets. The room swayed slightly, and he pulled free to shake his head, but Finrod made a protesting noise, dragging him back down into a rough kiss.

“I’m not gonna be able to take your damn clothes off,” he said finally, as Finrod continued to resist his attempts to pull back. “Leggo so I can get you naked already.”

“Fine,” said Finrod, a distracted and slightly disoriented tone to his voice, but he released Caranthir’s neck and Caranthir sat back, kneeling between Finrod’s legs and pulling his own shirt off before setting to work on Finrod’s jeans.

After an interval that felt too long to both of them, they could finally slide naked against each other, Caranthir unable to hold back a low moan as he settled easily between Finrod’s spread thighs.

“Yes,” breathed Finrod, his head falling back, inviting Caranthir’s mouth on his throat. Caranthir obliged him willingly, aching, as always, for more. Finrod had that effect on him; each touch made him crave a step further, hungry for exactly what Finrod always whispered in his ears – _more, harder, deeper_ – and all of his uncertainty about intent, and what Finrod wanted of him was driven far, far away – because here, what Finrod wanted of him, he could give. And he _wanted_ to give, so badly…

“I need you to be rough,” whispered Finrod, his fingers tight in Caranthir’s hair, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. “I want it to hurt.”

“What?”

“Fuck me hard,” said Finrod, his voice hoarse, and his fingers digging hard into Caranthir’s back. “I want you to fuck me ‘til I can’t speak. I want you to make it hurt.”

“Why – ”

“Does it matter?”

It didn’t.

-

Caranthir was stretched out face down on the bed, his arms under the pillow, his breathing deep and even. Finrod, moving slightly gingerly as he sat up, gently disentangled their legs and slid from the bed, hand reaching out to click off the light by Caranthir’s bed. He pulled on some pants and a tee shirt, not even checking whether it was his or Caranthir’s, and slipped out of the room, closing the door very softly behind him. He crept up the stairs on bare feet, and stopped in front of Curufin’s closed door. He pressed his hands against the door for a moment, trying to slow his ferocious heartbeat. Then he dropped one hand to the doorknob and opened it as quietly as he could.

The room was dark, but there was a slant of moonlight coming in through the window, the curtains not having been drawn. It fell across the bed, and lit the figure lying there.

Curufin was fast asleep, his eyes closed, a faint line between his brows. He was on his side facing the door, keeping the bandaged side of his face from being pressed against the pillow, and Finrod caught his breath at the sight. Even in the faint, shadowy light, he could see the bruises, and the black eye blooming in Curufin’s pale face. His fingers twitched on the doorframe as he ached to cross the room, to drop to his knees beside the bed and take Curufin’s hand in his, to smooth the dark hair back from that creased brow, to…

Curufin sighed in his sleep, and Finrod slipped back behind the door into the hallway.

 _I shouldn’t wake him._ He closed his eyes and shut the door as soundlessly as he could, leaning back against it. _Especially not reeking of weed, and with the marks of his brother’s mouth on me…not when I still ache from his brother inside me, can still taste him on my lips…_ But he stayed, leaning against the door a long while, his throat impossibly tight, imagining he could count Curufin’s breaths even through the wood between them.

_You must still be high. What are you doing?_

But he couldn’t bring himself to leave, not yet.

Finally, he crept downstairs as quietly as he had come, and curled back into bed beside Caranthir. He fell into uneasy dreams in which it was he who’d hurled the plate; he who’d left Curufin fallen and broken into thousands of pieces, shattered like so much crockery… And then Curufin turned into Caranthir, bleeding on the ground, staring at him in accusation.

Finrod made a sound in his sleep, and Caranthir rolled over to tug him against his chest. Half awake, he mumbled, “Whadju say?”

_Would you forgive me, if I broke you?_

“Nothing,” whispered Finrod, and pressed his mouth to Caranthir’s hand, which was curled loosely before him.

 

* * *

 

 

Celegorm lay in bed, eyes open, unsleeping. He’d been in essentially the same position for almost two days now. He was in an exile, of sorts, Maglor and Maedhros having held an intense, whispered conversation outside his door about what they should do about him, but ultimately, it was his own will that kept him from leaving the room. Maedhros had come in once, briefly, and tried to convince him to eat, but Celegorm had turned away from him and rasped, “Fuck off, Nelyo.” Maedhros had stayed, sitting quietly on the corner of his bed for a couple minutes, but eventually left without saying anything.

Celegorm blinked into the darkness, reveling in the thoughtless static of his mind. One hand trailed off the bed, just brushing the fur of the dog curled at his bedside. At one point, late into the night, he half thought he heard footsteps on the stairs and in the hallway, but assumed he was imagining it – either way, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

But the second time he heard a noise, he was sure he wasn’t imagining it. He heard the front door click open, followed by quiet but decisive footsteps on the stairs. They crossed the hallway to his room, and didn’t hesitate before the doorknob turned with a snick. He didn’t turn over to look at the door, but heard someone come in; the sound of someone slipping off their shoes. The visitor crossed the room, and the bed dipped as someone got into bed with him. He finally closed his eyes, hot tears stinging his eyelids, when a familiar arm wrapped around his waist, and familiar lips brushed a kiss to the back of his neck.

“Hey,” said a soft voice, as a body slid warm and solid along his back. “I hear you’ve had a rough couple days.”

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. There was a light hum at his ear, and the arm around his waist tightened. “I’m right here, babe. It’s gonna be okay.”

And for the first time in days, he let his body truly loosen from tight rigidity, as more tears slipped out from under his eyelids and Aredhel held him close.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3\. The other theme of this chapter, apart from ‘before, after and during coitus’ is, of course, doorknobs.


	40. Troubled spirits on my chest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Hmm, warnings…protective/upset parents in the beginning. Later, sexual content alluded to. Nothing explicit, nothing explosive. (No flying plates I promise)

_Thunk_

_Thunk_ _Thunk_

_BANG_

Nerdanel took another nail from between her lips and positioned it carefully on the statue’s head. She wielded her hammer expertly.

_Thunk_

_Thunk_

_BANG_

Originally, it seemed she had been going for a whimsical topiary of nails to make up her figure’s hair, but now Amrod, who was peeking around the corner of the door to her studio, thought her statue looked more like a voodoo doll gone awry.

Nerdanel had always been a deeply expressive artist.

Fëanor was pacing the sunlit studio, as he had been pacing it for almost an hour now. His hands were clasped tightly behind his back, but as his voice rose and fell, he periodically couldn’t keep himself from throwing his hands in the air, or raking his fingers through his usually neat dark hair.

“Our children. Our _children_ , Nerdanel – where did we go wrong? How does this keep happening, how do they keep ending up in these entanglements that entirely – ”

“Don’t even think about comparing this situation to Maitimo’s,” said Nerdanel, sending another nail into the bust before her, this one sinking almost all the way in with one blow. Behind the door, Amrod winced. “This is entirely different, and you know it. Maitimo fell in love with a boy more or less his age who happened to be the son of your estranged stepbrother. All the issues there were primarily _yours_ , not his. I never had a problem with their relationship; I always trusted Findekáno. _This_ ,” she grabbed another handful of nails, “is _entirely_ different. _This_ is a betrayal of our trust by someone we’ve known and respected for years. This is someone we trusted with our son, whom we considered a positive influence and a significant mentor and role model. For god’s sake, Fëanaro, Tyelkormo spent half a summer living with him!” She pulled in a deep breath, her shoulders tight, her cheeks flushed but her lips bloodless. “I can’t believe we allowed that. I can’t believe we considered it okay. Do you think that’s when…”

“I do.”

Nerdanel smacked her hammer down against nothing in particular, opening a long crack in her workbench.

“Exactly. Exactly.” Fëanor resumed pacing. “I should have known better than to trust that man – he associates with the likes of _that_ crowd. His sister is married to Tulkas, for god’s sake, I think he’s a friend of _Manwë._ I’ve never trusted any of them, that whole cabal; especially after that _farce_ of a trial...It makes sense that he’s friends with them. The _irony_ that I’m considered hardly better than a criminal, while _they_ …”

“Focus, Fëanaro.”

“This is why we need to go to the university immediately. I should call my lawyer while I’m at it.”

“I’m not sure we should rush into that.”

“What? You just said – You feel the same as I do – ”

“Of course I do. But the situation is hardly straight-forward.” Nerdanel pushed a few loose strands of red hair out of her eyes and laid down her hammer. “Tyelkormo is an adult, and he’s made it clear to us that he will not make it easy for us to act. I think we’d be foolish to assume that us destroying this man’s career will push Tyelko away from him – it may do just the opposite. And it may push him away from us, entirely.”

“He doesn’t mean that,” said Fëanor shortly. “He’s always been over-emotional and out of control – he doesn’t mean what he says half the time. He still lives in the house we own, he still lives with his brothers – ”

“And do you really think that will last? I take his threats seriously, Fëanaro, I think you underestimate him at your cost. Next thing you know, he’ll be moving out of the house and in with – ”

“ _No_.”

“He would. I swear he would. And then we have a son who won’t speak to us, who’s living with the man who took advantage of him and who has no reason to feel anything but ill-will towards us after all this has happened…”

Fëanor swore fervently. “But we can’t do nothing! We can’t just allow – ”

“I _know_. But I refuse to lose our boy. And then,” Nerdanel lowered her voice, and Amrod leaned forward to listen, Amras hanging onto his shoulder, “then there’s the fallout if we ask for an investigation. It’s going to be in the papers again, you know it will be – a prestigious university, an award-winning coach, and most of all – the son of an infamous family.”

“Bah,” said Fëanor loudly. “Like I care if my name gets dragged up again. No one could argue that I am not in the right on this one…”

“I’m not thinking of you. I’m thinking of the boys.”

“Tyelkormo won’t – ”

“We have more than one son, Fëanaro. And we have two in particular who are still young, and in school, and are still dealing with the fallout of past scandals. You know how cruel high schoolers can be.”

“Ambarussa are tougher than you give them credit for.”

“They shouldn’t have to be this tough! And I’m saying…”

Their voices dropped, too low for Amrod and Amras to hear without craning around the doorway all together. Instead, they quietly got up and tiptoed back into the main house.

Back in their room, Amrod dropped down on his bed. “Well. That’s interesting. Do you think it’s what it sounds like?”

Amras perched on the dresser and fiddled absently with an old penknife of Caranthir’s that he had stolen years ago. “Y’mean is Tyelko screwing around with his old coach?”

“Yep.”

“Yep.”

They contemplated this for a while.

Amrod wrinkled his nose, looking vaguely affronted. “I can’t believe he didn’t tell us.”

“I know.” Amras slid off the bureau and dropped to the floor in front of Amrod. “The asshole. I bet all the others know.”

“For sure. Curvo knows everything.”

“And Nelyo hovers.”

“And Moryo’s a sneak.”

“And Káno’s a mom.”

“So that means they were helping him cover it up.”

“And they left us out! The nerve.” Amras scowled. “We’ve helped them out before. That whole thing with calling dad from the warehouse district…”

“We never learned what that was about, actually. Do you reckon it was something to do with this?”

“Maybe. Ugh, those dicks. They’d be lost without us, and yet they leave us out.”

“If we’d been involved maybe dad wouldn’t be flipping a nutty right now.”

“And mom wouldn’t be perforating a statue.”

They fell quiet again, thinking.

“It’s kinda crazy, though,” said Amrod slowly. “Tyelko sleeping with his coach…”

“Yes.” But Amras didn’t seem put off. Instead, he gave a wriggle of excitement. “But dude, do you realize what this _means_?”

“Tyelko’s boyfriend is gonna get fired?”

“ _No_. It means that Oromë Aldaron could be our brother-in-law.”

“Don’t be stupid, Tyelko’s not gonna get married. Also, who would be dumb enough to marry Tyelko?”

“But we could have a LEGEND in the family.”

“A legend that mom clobbers with a hammer.”

“She’d get over it.”

“Dad wouldn’t.”

_“He played for the national squad.”_

“I don’t think dad cares...”

“Think Tyelko could get us some signed merch?”

“We should probably give it some time before we ask. Two more days, at least.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was Maglor who opened the door when the bell rang, Maglor who took an involuntary step back from the man standing on their front step – _He has to be at least as tall as Nelyo and twice as broad_. _Jeez._

But Oromë’s smile was warm enough, even though his eyes held sadness and concern, and Maglor felt himself relax slightly. _I should resent him for all the trouble he’s brought down on us, but…I can see how he would be easy to like._

“Hello,” said Oromë softly, “You must be – ” He looked Maglor up and down, as if cross-referencing some mental list, and said, “Maglor?”

“That’s me,” said Maglor. “I…I assume you’re here for Tyelko.”

“I haven’t been able to reach him,” said Oromë, and this time the anxiety in his face and voice was unmistakable. “He isn’t replying to my calls or texts, and his phone rings straight to voicemail. I wanted to make sure he’s okay.”

“Yeah, he is, he’s upstairs. His phone is, uh, out of commission right now.” Maglor winced slightly.

Oromë let out a breath, looking like some of his worst fears, at least, were being laid to rest. “Is it all right if I see him?”

 _What would Nelyo do? I wish he were here to tell me._ “Yeah, I think so.” Maglor stepped aside, half expecting Oromë to need to duck as he stepped through the doorway. “He’s up in his room, he’s been there since…anyway, he’s up there.” Maglor pointed. “Take a left and then his is the room with – well, you’ll probably be able to tell.” Celegorm’s door not only had half the wood haphazardly replaced following an indoor soccer incident when he’d kicked straight through it, but there was also a Beleriand U. Rugby pennant pinned to it.

“Thank you.” Oromë hesitated, looking like he was going to say more – _like he wants to apologize for everything_ , Maglor thought, in a moment of intuition – but he just nodded appreciatively at Maglor and headed up the stairs.

 

-

 

Celegorm was lying on his bed, tossing a rugby ball into the air and catching it again. He was so absorbed in this activity that he didn’t notice someone had come into his room until a hand reached out and caught the ball as it reached the peak of its trajectory. Celegorm sat up at once and spun quickly towards the door. Oromë palmed the ball and smiled crookedly at him.

“Sorry to interrupt.”

“Oromë,” Celegorm croaked, and reached for him.

Oromë let the ball drop to the ground as Celegorm’s hands closed painfully hard on his upper arms and dragged him to the bed. He held Celegorm tightly, pulling him close, and Celegorm clung to him, arms hard around his shoulders, face pressed against Oromë’s neck.

“Hey,” murmured Oromë, “hey, my wild one, I missed you…”

Celegorm didn’t say anything, his face still hidden in Oromë’s shoulder, and Oromë stroked his hair gently.

“How are you doing?”

Celegorm made a rough, disbelieving noise into Oromë’s neck, and Oromë smiled. “I’m sorry. We can work our way up to that question.” He ran his hand down Celegorm’s back, feeling the knotted muscle, the tension there as perceptible as if it had been written across his skin. They didn’t say anything for a long while, holding onto each other, Celegorm refusing to unknot his fingers from Oromë’s hair, Oromë’s arm wrapped tightly around Celegorm’s waist as his free hand worked the knots from Celegorm’s back.

Finally, they loosened their holds on each other slightly, enough for Celegorm to pull back and look up into Oromë’s face, and Oromë’s heart smote him at the brightness in Celegorm’s eyes. He kissed him then, trying to pour as much comfort and reassurance as he could into the gesture, and he felt Celegorm exhale into their kiss, a soft sound of relief that nevertheless carried the unspoken weight of three days apart – three days too long.

They settled down together onto the bed, Oromë leaning back against the wall, Celegorm pressed to his side, head on his shoulder.

Oromë let his fingers linger on the back of Celegorm’s neck. “I’ve never seen your room before.”

Celegorm gave a short laugh. “Right, you’ve really been missing out.”

Oromë looked around the room, finally registering Huan’s presence in the dog bed in the corner. There was a careless comfort to the room: old jerseys and varsity letters tacked to the walls, a bookshelf that contained more trophies than books, and the windowsills and desk scattered with the things that Celegorm would randomly collect – anything that caught his eye on the street, in the woods, on the water. Shells and honeycomb and bits of sea glass; lichen and scraps of hide and shotgun shells; bones and half-bricks and carefully preserved insects – even a few dried flowers. Oromë recognized an aster he’d tucked behind Celegorm’s ear in a rare moment of amused whimsy, on one of the first hikes they’d taken after getting back together. “It feels very you.”

“A total fucking mess? Yeah, that seems accurate.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Oromë kissed Celegorm’s temple. “I like seeing the space you inhabit.”

“Weirdo.”

“It’s a good thing you put up with me regardless.” Oromë nuzzled at Celegorm’s hair as Celegorm leaned into him. “Can I ask how you’re doing now?”

“Oh, fucking peachy.”

“That bad?”

“The worst.” Celegorm closed his eyes and tightened his fingers in Oromë’s shirt. He was pressed so close it felt like he was trying to crawl inside Oromë’s very skin. Oromë held him tighter. “I don’t want to get into it now. But. Has there been any news on your end?”

Oromë wanted to ask more – about the level of despair and guilt in Celegorm’s eyes, about the mysteriously ‘out of commission’ phone – but he restrained himself. “Your father hasn’t gone to the school yet.”

Celegorm raised his head, frowning. “Really? How do you know?”

“I think I would have heard something pretty immediately.”

“Huh. I wonder why he’s…” Celegorm’s voice trailed off. “He’s probably just gathering his forces. Getting his lawyers, talking shit out with mom…”

“Nothing you said to him had any– ”

“Zero fucking impact. Big surprise. I’m not gonna be able to convince him on any of this; when he gets an idea in his head, it’s _set_.”

Oromë nodded; he’d predicted as much. “I suppose that’s what I expected. But the fact that he hasn’t done anything yet means I can do something on my end. Tyelko – I’m going to go to the AD and the administration and come clean about our relationship.”

Celegorm pushed himself back and stared at Oromë. “What?”

“I should have done it when we first got back together this fall. I should have come forward immediately and said listen, I am involved with one of my former athletes.”

“Why the fuck would you – ”

“The fact of me concealing it for this long makes it worse, honestly, and I should have been straightforward from the beginning. Because what I did – sleeping with you while I was your coach – WAS unethical, and it deserves to be questioned. This way they can conduct their own investigation to determine if my affair with you had an impact on my coaching, or the team, or my behavior towards you. They can investigate whether or not I ever acted inappropriately towards any other athlete I ever had. And then they can decide what to do about it.”

“Could you get fired?”

“Certainly. I will likely go on administrative leave while they conduct their investigation – or voluntary suspension without pay. And I will resign if it seems appropriate.”

“But the team – ”

“We’re in the off-season now, but I’m going to tell them myself the same thing I will tell the administration. I imagine they will have their own questions and anger and disappointment…I cannot blame them for losing faith in me, but they can at least hear it from me rather than some third party.”

“But – ” Celegorm was struggling to find words to respond.

“Look, Tyelko, this is either going to come from your father, or from me. On the whole, I’d rather be the one setting in action the events that will determine my fate, for what little it’s worth. At least it will be my choice, and what I should have done anyway.”

“How are you so calm about this?” Celegorm burst out. “I’ve been fucking _dying_ for the past few days. I’ve seen you look like hell just from running into my dad at a restaurant, _how are you so relaxed right now_?”

Oromë smiled faintly. “I don’t know that relaxed is the word for it – but relieved, on some level, might be accurate. I’ve been worrying about this for over a year, ever since I first fell for you. Now the worst has happened and I can actually deal with it, and accept the consequences, rather than speculating and living in fear. I hate lying, I hate hiding, I hate not knowing – I much prefer to meet these things head on.”

“Ah, fuck.” Celegorm stared at him, his face showing exasperation and affection in equal measure. It was a look Oromë very often bestowed upon him. “You say shit like that, and half of me wants to beat you over the head for being so goddamn noble and _stupid_ , and half of me just…” He leaned forward and kissed Oromë roughly. “…remembers that it’s shit like this that makes me love you.” He pulled back, sitting with his knees on either side of one of Oromë's legs, and cupped Oromë’s face between his hands. “…I kinda thought you were gonna come here and try to end things with me.”

“No,” said Oromë, quiet but fierce. “I am beyond that, Tyelko. I will only ever end things with you if you want it. I am done trying to shut you out for your own good. I am done trying to tell myself we’d be happier apart. I may lose my job, and I may well deserve it, but I’m not going to lose _you_ unless you tell me we’re through.”

Celegorm grabbed him hard and pressed their foreheads together. “It’s about time you came to that conclusion. ‘Cos you’re stuck with me – non-fucking negotiable.”

They grinned, rather fiercely, at each other.

“Good.”

Oromë finally spoke again, his thumb brushing gently over the hollow of Celegorm’s throat. “After I go to the administration, if and when they launch this investigation, they’re going to want to talk to you.”

Celegorm shrugged, and curled his lip. “Fine. I’ll talk about whatever they like. They’ll get the truth.”

But Oromë wasn’t finished. “The other thing is that your father won’t be the only one who feels like he does. You’re going to hear people say things about me. They may ask questions that imply the very worst…”

“Anyone who says that can go fuck themselves with a rusty fuckin’ poker.”

“No, listen, Tyelko,” said Oromë, as Celegorm bared his teeth, looking wolfish. “I know how you can get, I know how protective you are, and I really do appreciate your loyalty – but you can’t fly off the handle when they say things about me, no matter what they suggest. I’ll be fine, I can take it, and you and I both know what we have – but please, don’t lose it when you hear someone badmouth me. They are perfectly within their rights to do so, and you going wild will only make things worse.”

Celegorm began to protest, but stopped himself, his eyes dulling. “Yeah, that might be true.”

Oromë regarded him closely. “Now can I ask how you’re doing?”

Celegorm shrugged. “Hey, I’m fine, nothing major; I’m just finally estranged from my father. Long time coming, honestly.”

Celegorm’s voice was unnaturally cold, and the harshness of his tone made Oromë ache. “I never wanted that. I know this is hard, I know he’s angry, I know you’re angry, but I have no doubt he loves you and that’s why – ”

But Celegorm’s face had gone as hard as his voice. “Leave it, Oromë. I’m done with him.”

“Okay.” There was more Oromë wanted to say, but he could see by the warning light in Celegorm’s eyes that now wasn’t the time.

Celegorm’s jaw worked. “But that’s…that’s not the worst. I don’t give a shit about my dad, and this was inevitable anyway, right? But. Oromë, I.” He seemed to be struggling to find the words, and Oromë felt his heart seize as he saw tears rise in Celegorm’s eyes. “Something bad happened. I did something – I hurt – I cut my little brother’s face open.”

“WHAT?”

Celegorm’s voice was thick, and his face was grief-stricken. “I was so angry…I was smashing the kitchen to pieces, and he came in just as I threw something – he caught it full in the face.”

Oromë found Celegorm’s hand and held it tightly. “My god. Is he okay?”

“They say…they say so.”

“Did you take him to the doctor?”

Celegorm swallowed. “My cousin is a med student…”

Oromë bit back his impatience. “Your cousin? For god’s sake, Tyelko, he needs – ”

“I know,” cried Celegorm. “I know. But he won’t go. And he’s been bandaged up now, and Turukáno would have said…I don’t know what else to do. He says he’s fine. Even Nelyo’s let it drop at this point…”

Oromë took a deep breath. “Please keep me up to date on how he’s doing. If he needs to see someone, I can help find…”

“I know.”

Oromë’s hand tightened around Celegorm’s. “This is why I need you to hold it together if you hear things. When you get that angry, you can - you _have -_ hurt yourself or others. It was bad enough when it was just you getting hurt. I never want to see that happen again, and even less do I want – ”

“I know, I _know_.”

Oromë raised Celegorm’s hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “Promise. As a favor to me, Tyelko, as a promise to your brother. Promise you will try.”

Celegorm looked over, as if he could see through the door and across the hallway. “I promise.”

 

* * *

 

 

Quite a while later, Oromë stepped quietly out of Celegorm’s room, shutting the door carefully behind him. He’d left Celegorm sunk into a deep sleep in his bed. He’d looked like he hadn’t slept for days, and it was only after they’d stopped talking, and Oromë had pressed long kisses to his lips and held him close, and Celegorm had wordlessly begged for more, and they’d made love as quietly as they could in Celegorm’s small, afternoon-lit room, that Celegorm had fallen asleep, worn out and newly calm in Oromë’s arms.

Oromë had been tempted to stay, to lie with Celegorm in the crook of his arm and watch him sleep, but part of him knew that if he didn’t pull himself away now, he’d never leave. So he’d gotten up and dressed, Celegorm rolling into the warmth left by his body, still unwaking.

As he shut the door behind him and looked up, he saw a slim, dark-haired figure watching him from across the hall, leaning against the doorframe, arms folded. He recognized Curufin at once, not least from the bandages and bruises that covered half his face. He couldn’t help but wince – he’d seen much worse, of course, but it didn’t make that sharp young face, so badly battered, any easier to look at.

Curufin looked away from his stricken expression. “Oh, spare me.”

Oromë tried to wipe the dismay from his face and spoke as calmly as he could.  “It looks like it’s healing well, at least. Are you icing it?”

“Yes.”

Oromë hesitated. “Arnica may help with the bruising. Calendula will speed the healing process, once the cut starts to close. And vitamin e might help keep it from scarring.”

Curufin stared at him, and for a moment, Oromë decided he must have over stepped. But then Curufin said, “Thank you.”

“I am sorry, about all of this.”

Curufin rolled his eyes. “I know.”

“If,” Oromë took a deep breath. “If Tyelko gets….angry, again, if he loses control, or gets dangerous…please call me.”

“Sure,” said Curufin. “I’ll just shoot the bat signal into the sky and hope that the Commissioner can find you.”

“That probably won’t be necessary.” Oromë pulled out his wallet and extracted a card from it. “My number. Please don’t hesitate to use it.”

Curufin took it and put it in his pocket without looking at it. “Noted.”

Oromë waited a moment, then nodded to Curufin and made to head down the stairs.

“Hold on.”

Oromë half turned back.

Curufin looked like he was struggling with something. “How is he? Right now?”

“He’s asleep.”

Curufin let out a long breath, and his body relaxed slightly as he slumped against the doorframe. “Finally.” He stared across the hall at Celegorm’s door, and then, without looking at Oromë, said, “Thank you. I’m…I’m glad he could see you.”

Oromë studied Curufin, who looked suddenly very young, and very weary. “So am I. Take care of yourself, Curufinwë. I hope you have someone who can look in on you, too.”

 

* * *

 

 

Haleth tossed a pair of socks at Caranthir’s head. He ducked, and the socks fell into the open suitcase next to him.

“You need like five more pairs.”

“It’s gonna be a three day trip, Haleth, what the fuck.”

“It’s been snowing like balls, you’re going to get your feet wet, and then you’ll get frostbite and lose your toes if you don’t have a dry pair to change into.”

“I will _not_ lose my toes.”

Haleth cracked her gum. “We’ll be able to pop ‘em off one at a time, like snap beads.”

“You are such a fuckin’ sicko.” But Caranthir dropped an armful of socks into the bag.

Haleth poked through several piles of clothes with her toes. A grin crept over her face, and she kicked something free. “Ooooh, a condom wrapper? Moryo, you dog.”

Caranthir flushed and didn’t look at her. “Shut up.”

Haleth waggled her eyebrows. “You seeing someone? Had a hot date? Who’s the lucky – ”

“No one. Not like that. I’m not – It’s not – Shut up.”

Haleth kept grinning, but didn’t say anything more.

“I shouldn’t be going away this weekend,” muttered Caranthir, dropping random articles of clothing into the bag. “My brothers probably need…what if something…”

“They’ll be fine without you,” said Haleth soothingly. “From what you’ve told me, the worst of it has already happened, yeah? But come on, the Mountain Club has this killer cabin, and you’ve never once taken advantage of it, and you need a break, and I’m going to teach you to ice climb…”

“…and pop my toes off one at a time, apparently.”

“Only if you don’t bring enough socks.” Haleth dropped down on the bed and hung her head into the suitcase so she could smile up at Caranthir. “C’mon, Moryo, it’ll be fun. And I’m going to get you drunk and then maybe you’ll tell me whose been in your bed enough times to go through this many condoms.” She held up another wrapper she’d unearthed under the pillow, and Caranthir snatched it from her fingers, turning an even deeper shade of red as Haleth laughed delightedly.

 

* * *

 

_Hey. I heard about what happened._

 

_Oh good, I didn’t have enough people being solicitous and sympathetic at me before._

 

_Perish the thought. I wasn’t planning on being solicitous OR sympathetic._

_I wanted to know if you have a rakish scar now._

 

_Oh, please._

 

_You’d be hot with a scar._

 

_I wasn’t hot before? Thanks a lot._

 

_I think you should know that I’m rolling my eyes right now._

 

_Careful, your face will get stuck like that._

 

_It’s the least I can do when someone who looks like you is fishing for compliments._

 

_Someone who looks like me?_

 

_You’re doing it again._

 

_Sorry. You wanted to know about a scar._

 

_Yes._

 

_Check back in a couple weeks._

 

_I’d like to check in a bit sooner than that._

 

_…_

_He’s out of town through Monday._

 

_…_

_Noted._

 

_Now leave me alone, I have work to do._

 

_Leaving…_

_(Take care of yourself, for real, though.)_

 

_Yes, yes._

 

_Yes. Goodnight._

_Goodnight._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Since we’ve had Celegorm sequestered for three days/chapters now, I couldn’t help but feel I was writing the third of his visitations here, à la _A Christmas Carol_ – he needed that last one to actually get out of his total funk.  
>  2\. Re: the title – Tell me [‘Your Bones’](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wXUloVYbchg) by Of Monsters and Men ain’t a great song for C/O, esp in canonverse. Anyway, for once I jacked a lyric from them instead of awolnation. I am capable of change.


	41. Kill your heroes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyday things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. This opening scene was written many months ago as a Christmas gift for Silje – I have since updated it to take into account recent events, but it means that she has had enough time with the text to actually illustrate it. This is the first time I actually get to include DWMP fanart in the body of the work itself! As an added bonus, Silje is spectacularly talented and capable of reducing me to a quivering mass with her rendition of this scene. Anyway, enjoy the first edition of illustrated DWMP!

Curufin had abandoned his monitors for once and had resorted to coding while lying in bed – a last ditch effort to kick-start creativity. The cut on his face was itching abominably as it healed, and it was as distracting as a fly buzzing in his ear. He’d hoped work would prove consuming enough to keep his hands from drifting to his face, but so far, work had been coming only with difficulty. It wasn’t until he moved to the bed that he finally was able to lose himself in his code, to his great relief. In fact, he was so absorbed in his task, his laptop propped on his knees, that he didn’t notice someone had slipped into his room until that someone was standing at the foot of his bed, laughing at him.

“Earth to Curvo.”

Curufin groaned. “Like I’ve never heard _that_ one before.” He didn’t raise his eyes from the screen, absorbed in the text scrolling past. “Get a new joke.”

“What are you working on?” Sunlight caught fair hair and amused blue eyes.

“What?” Curufin looked up, and blinked. _Finrod._ Finrod, who as promised, was not looking solicitous, or pitying, and whose eyes lingered only briefly on the fading bruises on his face. “Oh.” He gestured at his screen. “That program I’ve been perfecting for the past year or so.” He chewed his lip, eyes drifting back to his terminal. If he was honest with himself, CLBRMBR was _far_ from perfect. “It’s still pretty buggy, but it runs rings around my previous prototype.”

Finrod was also acting as easy-going and lightly curious as he always did, another promise fulfilled, and Curufin felt appreciation well through him. _Everyone’s been so weird this week. But you, at least, can be natural._

Finrod was slipping off his shoes. “Did you figure out that admin authorization error?”

“No.” Curufin scowled. “Stupid thing.”

Finrod cocked his head, raising an eyebrow. “You realize that accusing something _you_ created of stupidity is, by extension, calling yourself – ”

“Don’t read too much into it.”

“Never.” Finrod dropped his bag on the floor with a pointed thump, and his eyes fell on the book by Curufin’s bedside. “That looks interesting.”

Curufin jabbed at a couple of keys, but the TYLPE function was still being stubborn and threw another runtime error. “Goddamnit. Yes, _The Design of Everyday Things_. Cory Doctorow reviewed it well, so I thought I’d add it to my list. I got it for Christmas from Father but I haven’t opened it yet.”

“Oh, Don Norman…Huh.” Finrod examined the book with interest. “Is it well written?”

“See for yourself.”

Finrod sighed and dropped down on the bed next to Curufin. “I’ve been grading midterms all weekend; I don’t know if I’m capable.” He rubbed wearily at the bridge of his nose. “I think my eyes might give out at any second.” He smiled slightly, looking over at Curufin. “Read me a passage?”

Curufin exhaled heavily. “You child.” But he set down his computer – _my code needs to compile, anyway –_ and picked up the book. He opened it as Finrod stretched out next to him.

“ _The same principles that make these simple things work well or poorly apply to more complex operations, including ones in which human lives are at stake. Most accidents are attributed to human error, but in almost all cases the human error was the direct result of poor design. The principles that guide a quality, human-centered design are not relevant just to a more pleasurable life—they can save lives_.”

A fly buzzed in the window, and the tree that pressed up against Curufin’s window scratched a branch repetitively against the glass. It was warm in the small room despite the cold day outside, and the light had an almost lazy quality to it.

Rather like the long figure stretched out on the bed next to him.

Curufin paused, not sure if he was annoyed or pleased by the way Finrod had rolled slightly against him so his shoulder pressed against Curufin’s thigh. “Do you want me to go on?”

“Mmm,” Finrod murmured. He shifted over and laid his head on Curufin’s lap. “Yes. You have a nice reading voice.”

Curufin quirked an eyebrow sardonically. “Ah, yes. _A nice reading voice._ Many talented am I.”

“You are.” Finrod’s lips parted in a smile, his eyes closing, as Curufin shook his head and read on.

_“In design, it is important to show the effect of an action. Without feedback, one is always wondering whether anything has happened. Maybe the button wasn't pushed hard enough; maybe the machine has stopped working; maybe it is doing the wrong thing. Without feedback, we turn equipment off at improper times or restart unnecessarily, losing all our recent work. Or we repeat the command and end up having the operation done twice, often to our detriment. Feedback is critical.”_

Curufin briefly had a moment when he was sure he could see, out of the corner of his eye, Finrod examining him closely, the ease gone from his face and replaced with a grimace of concern. But when he flicked his eyes down at Finrod he had only a faint smile on his lips, and his eyes were hooded and staring at something in the distance as he listened. Curufin told himself he’d been imagining it and returned to the text.

Soon he was as absorbed in the book as if he’d been reading it alone, and it was only when he broke off to say, “I had no idea about thermostats. Did you – ” that he glanced down and saw that Finrod was asleep. Curufin gazed at him, at the faint lines at the corners of his eyes; how they smoothed out as he slept. Cautiously, he reached out to touch a lock of Finrod’s fair hair where it fell over his brow. It was warm from the sun, and Curufin realized that really, Finrod was _always_ warm. He let his hand drop from Finrod’s hair to brush down his neck to his shoulder. At his touch, Finrod stirred and reached up, eyes still closed, to take his hand. Their fingers, almost involuntarily, twined together.

“I guess you’re done with the book?” Curufin whispered, so quietly that he wasn’t sure Finrod could hear him. He wasn’t sure if he wanted Finrod to hear him, anyway. “I never would have taken you for someone with such a short attention span.” But even he could tell that his voice held none of the sarcasm of his words. His eyes drifted briefly to the laptop, its screen dark, on the bedspread beside him. _This is the first time you’ve had all year to work on your own program. You should take advantage of it._

He reached out with his free hand and closed the laptop.

Curufin leaned back against the pillows, laying the book carefully on the blankets beside him. A warm feeling, a still feeling, a content feeling – as warm as sunlight, as warm as Finrod – filled him.

Finrod sighed and turned his face against Curufin’s leg, murmuring something inaudible, and Curufin, without thinking about what he was doing, squeezed Finrod’s hand gently. There were shadows under Finrod’s eyes, and for some reason the sight of them made Curufin frown, disconcerted.

“Shh,” he murmured. “Take a break for once, you overworked fool.”

Finrod sighed again, and relaxed against him. Curufin closed his eyes, his fingers still intertwined with Finrod’s. The sun shone on as the tree tapped patiently against the window, unheeded by the drowsing pair on the bed.

The words of the book ran lazily through Curufin’s mind before fading into half-dreams.

_There is no need to sacrifice beauty for usability or, for that matter, usability for beauty. It is possible to create things that are both creative and usable, both pleasurable and completely workable…_

_… Art and beauty play essential roles in our lives._

_Technology may change rapidly, but people change slowly. The principles, the examples, and the lessons of_ The Design of Everyday Things _come from an understanding of people._

_They remain true forever._

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

 

“Okay, if you could all stand in a line – a _line – A LINE –_ Okay, clump is close enough – we can head over to the music area, and – _oof,_ sh _–_ ” Maedhros just caught himself from falling headlong into a filing cabinet, a prospect that would likely have put a sharp corner right into his eye socket, and managed to hold back a throughly non kid-friendly curse at the same time. He steadied himself and looked down at the small child wrapped around his leg. He lifted his foot experimentally. “Hey, buddy, you’re going to have to let me go now.”

“Nuh.”

“Yes, I think so. Look, your friends are all lined – clumped up at the door. Don’t you want to go sing with Miss Ría?”

“Nuh.”

Maedhros bent down and gently unwound the child from his leg. The child promptly curled into a ball and refused to look at him. “Hey now, we just had a really good time writing those poems and stories, didn’t we? You had a really good one about the pig and the pancakes…”

“Ye.”

“…and I think it could be a _smash_ hit. Instant classic. You know all it needs?”

“Whm?”

“It just needs to be set to music! And lucky you, that’s _exactly_ what Miss Ría is going to help you all with.”

The child uncurled slightly and fixed Maedhros with a suspicious eye. “Fr’rl?”

“For real.”

The child sighed and fully uncurled, holding out a sticky hand, which Maedhros took gingerly. The rest of the afterschool students – who ranged in age from kindergarten to fifth grade – were watching with a mixture of impatience and interest, though a couple of them had started whispering and kicking at each other.

Still holding the paw of his reticent charge, Maedhros waved a hand he hoped conveyed authority. “Onward, troops. To the music room!”

“St’wimme?”

As they headed down the hall, Maedhros had to bend down to hear what the child holding his hand was saying through a mouthful of sweater stuffed in their mouth.

“What was that?”

“Stay wimme, Mae?”

Maedhros smiled. “I think I can do that. But you have to listen to Miss Ría too, okay?”

“'K.”

 

-

 

It was past 6 o’clock, the last of their charges had been led away by parents picking them up after work, and Ríanellë was folding up her music stand and rolling up the carpet she’d laid out so they could sit in a circle while she led them through scales.

She carefully set her guitar back into her case and latched it with a sigh. “Ahh, I do wish I could use my banjo instead. Guitar has always been my weakest instrument.”

“Banjo would be a pretty different sound, that’s for sure.” Maedhros took the music stand she held out to him and stashed it in one of the tall upright cabinets that lined the walls of the school’s multi-use gym.

“I suppose we could work our way up to it. Say, do you think that kid who wrote the lyrics about the smiling skunk realized the amazing Beowulf allegory he was making?”

“You caught that too, huh?” Maedhros looked ruminative. “The fact that it included a character called Grundle really hit it home.”

“Either that or he’s making a song obliquely about the perineum.”

“You know, that’s exactly the joke my brother would make.”

“Not Maglor, surely.”

Maedhros paused, realizing they were finally touching on the subject that they’d been avoiding all afternoon. “Not Maglor, no,” he agreed. “But Celegorm definitely would make some kind of uh, taint joke.”

Ríanellë chuckled. “Oh, that Thor.”

Maedhros squinted at her. “Sorry?”

“It’s how I keep you all straight.” Ríanellë dug a clip out of her pocket and used it to pin her bangs back as she bent down to gathering up the sheets of paper left behind by the music class. “There’s Thor, and the Curufin – he made it clear he refused to be nicknamed – and Tall Dark and Broody, and you, the Ginger One.”

“If that’s going to be how you identify me you may get in trouble – it’s not a unique quality in this family.”

“Damnit. How about the _Tall_ Ginger?”

“It sets me apart from the Identical Gingers, I suppose.”

“Seven of you. Right, I should have remembered.”

They each busied themselves with the cleanup for a few minutes more, before Maedhros couldn’t hold himself back anymore. He was rarely this confrontational, but – “You know, surely.”

“What’s that?”

“You know who we are. Our family. Our…father.”

“Ah.” Ríanellë straightened up, carpet over her shoulder. “Yes, I know who you are.” She crossed to the cabinet and slid the carpet away.

Maedhros waited, but she didn’t follow up on this, so he said, “And?”

“I guessed after Maglor mentioned he had six brothers, and then I asked Ecthelion and he confirmed.”

“Wait, _he_ knew? He didn’t care? _You_ didn’t care?”

Ríanellë didn’t answer him directly. “How long did it take you to realize what family _I_ belonged to?”

“I knew as soon as I saw your last name.”

“You put two and two together a lot faster than your brother.”

“He hasn’t spent the same amount of time poring over legal documents.” Maedhros crossed his arms. “You really didn’t know about Maglor’s family when you first hooked up with him?”

“I really didn’t. Not, as I said, until the next morning when he mentioned how many of you there were, and I thought about the only other family I knew of with seven sons…”

“Ecthelion plays music with him.”

“He does.”

“And he _knew_?”

“Of course.”

Maedhros stared at her. “Why didn’t either of you… Do you just not care?”

For the first time, Ríanellë’s eyes flashed with a trace of fire. “Maedhros, we lost two uncles at Alqualondë; half my family worked in the factory. The past several years of my life have been wholly absorbed with that tragedy and the fact that both my parents lost brothers there. Do I _care_? Of course I care.”

“So you refusing to date him – was that because you realized whose son he was? Were you trying to punish him?”

She narrowed her eyes. “What kind of person do you think I am?”

“I don’t know what kind of person you are! But he’s my brother, and I don’t want him being yanked around because of a personal vendetta.”

Ríanellë was still staring at him, her dark eyes cold. “No. I didn’t reject him because he was a Fëanorion.”

“Why not?” demanded Maedhros. _If I were you, I would have_ , went unspoken.

Something softened in Ríanellë’s face then. “Maedhros, my parents did not raise either me or my brother to be vengeful. What on earth could we accomplish with anger? What happened at Alqualondë was a tragedy, and should never have happened. But Maglor didn’t keep the doors from opening when they tried to escape, nor did he ignite oil canisters in the back. He wasn’t the reason they died, anymore than you were – or the rest of your crew of brothers.”

“My father wasn’t either.”

She smiled faintly and didn’t answer. “I don’t hold you responsible, and anger doesn’t do a great job in terms of helping grief, in my experience, it just wears you out faster. I told your brother the truth – I’m not dating him because I don’t want to date anyone right now.” Her mischievous smile was back, her cheery mien regained as swiftly as if they hadn’t just been speaking of an incident that had cost her family two lives, and Maedhros’ family millions. “And I’m _especially_ not dating pretentious musicians.”

“You _are_ a – ”

“Boy, do I know it.” Ríanellë pulled her leather jacket on and hefted her guitar strap over her shoulder. “See you next week, Maedhros.”

 

* * *

 

 

Caranthir tilted his head back, staring at the impressive ice fall in front of him, nearly 40 feet tall and a far more brilliant blue than the sky, which was currently slate grey and dropping thin, dry snowflakes on them.

“This is insane.”

Behind him, Haleth was busy fiddling with a carabiner, her heavy gloves stuck into her belt alongside an ice pick almost as long as her arm.

“What if it just, like, collapses?”

“It won’t.” Haleth checked her harness and gave an experimental tug on the rope, jerking Caranthir back several inches.

“ _Ouch_.”

Health looked up at him and sighed. “Bro, you aren’t even in the right shoes yet.”

Caranthir looked down at his boots. “What’s wrong with these?”

“Mary and Joseph. How are you gonna spike into the ice with those blunt things?”

Caranthir waved his own ice picks vaguely. “I thought that’s what these were for.”

“You need them down low, too.”

“Down low? Like on my – ”

“On your feet, freak.”

As Caranthir sat down resignedly – and stiffly, in his three layers of clothes – on a hoar-frosted boulder and began to pull on the crampons Haleth had tossed him. As he fiddled with the crampons and tried to avoid stabbing himself, Haleth leaned against a tree and folded her arms.

“So hey, tell me about this person you’ve been seeing.”

“Hm?” Caranthir bent very low, ostensibly to fiddle with a buckle.

“You’re sleeping with someone, dude! I want to know who…or at least how it’s going.”

“I thought you were gonna get me drunk before badgering me.”

“I forgot the booze,” said Haleth regretfully. “I was hoping the cold would have a similar numbing effect.”

“Hmm, you may be out of luck, then.”

“You’re not going to give me anything? No scrap of information about this person?”

“I don’t really wanna talk about…this person. It's not like it's a big deal, anyway.”

Health nodded. “Just a casual thing, then?”

“I…well, yeah…I think.” Caranthir stood up and drove his feet experimentally against the snow-packed ground. “It’s all…complicated. Or confusing.”

“How so?”

“They…I don’t really know what they want.”

“From you?”

“Yeah.” Caranthir let out an impatient breath and began tugging his gloves back on. “H- They keep giving me really mixed signals, right? Doing all sorts of weird shit.” Caranthir fiddled with his own harness until Haleth nudged him to stop spinning his caribiner open. “He keeps coming over at weird times – ” Haleth noted the ‘he’ _,_ but didn’t comment – “he texts at weird times, he says things I don’t totally understand – he’s been spending the night sometimes, but he’s always gone early in the morning, sometimes he’ll show up with absolutely no warning and spend the night and talk like he’s sharing something with me – but then not actually say anything, right? He never did shit like that before, why now?”

“I don’t know, Moryo,” said Haleth carefully, “As far as relationships go – ”

“It’s not a relationship!”

“Well, true, it does sound pretty badly defined. But even if it’s not a very clear one, it is a relationship of _some_ kind.”

Caranthir made a face at the snow around his feet. “What does he want from me? I can’t be his new Am – I didn’t know it was going to turn out like this.”

“You could ask him.”

“Hnnh.”

“You could end it, if you’re not happy.”

“I’m not _unhappy_ , I just don’t get him. It was supposed to be something else, I think. But what if he wants…”

“What do _you_ want from him?”

“Hell if I know," said Caranthir, to the frozen ground. "It was easier when we were just fucking.”

“Things like that rarely last indefinitely,” said Haleth wisely. “Fuck buddies are not forever. They either turn into more, or they turn into less, generally.”

Caranthir was staring up at the icefall, swinging his ice pick rather dangerously. “Whatever. I’m done talking about this.”

Haleth didn’t push her luck. “Okay. Say 'On belay'.”

“On belay?"

"Belay on. Say 'climbing'."

"Climbing, I guess. I can’t believe you talked me into this.”

"Climb on!"

* * *

 

 

Fëanor was at his writing desk, wielding his fountain pen with some force against the heavy paper of his stationary. He always preferred to write messages in longhand, even if only as a first draft, as he felt it paced his thoughts and could help shift impatience into elegance. Many an email had begun as an impeccably scripted draft on his monogrammed stationary – a habit Nerdanel had always found highly amusing, though she never objected when she found the beautifully hand-written notes he would leave under her pillow, or tucked into the crack in her work bench.

Feanor shook his head, drawing his focus back to the matter at hand. Love letters were not something he needed to be thinking about when composing ringing indictments. He frowned irritably as his thoughts were interrupted by the phone on his desk ringing sharply, but the glower faded as soon as he picked up and heard the voice on the other end.

“Father?”

“Curufinwë.” Fëanor set down his pen and smiled, leaning back in his chair. “It’s been too long since I’ve heard your voice. Has school been consuming you again?”

“Yes, of course, as is its wont.”

“But it’s going well, I hope?”

“School? Obviously. I was calling about something else.” Curufin’s clear voice was brisk and businesslike, and Fëanor couldn’t help but smile fondly, even as a stab of concern nudged at him.

“Is everything all right?”

“We need to talk about Turkafinwë.”

“Oh,” Fëanor’s heart sank, and the throb of anger and unhappiness that had been pressing on him all week resurfaced. “I suppose you heard – ”

“Of course.”

Fëanor sighed. “I’m sorry, Curvo. I know it must be upsetting to hear about, and to see your brother so emotional, but rest assured that we’re working on bringing things to rights. Turko is going to be okay. I’m sure this must be confusing and alarming, but please let me or your mother know if you have any – ”

“I’m not confused or alarmed.” Fëanor could almost see the impatient twitch of his son’s shoulders, the gesture he was unable to repress whenever he felt he was being underestimated. “I’ve known for ages.”

Fëanor blinked, and his fingers tightened on the phone. “You have?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

There was the briefest pause. “No.”

Fëanor tightened his jaw. “I am sorry that your brother felt the need to swear you to secrecy on this. It was wildly inappropriate of him to drag you into this mess, and I apologize for the anxiety that must have caused you.”

“Turko didn’t swear me to anything. He didn’t even know that I knew, for a while. But father, I know why you’re upset. I was upset too, and I completely understand your concerns.”

“Do you really,” said Fëanor, wearily. He knew his next youngest son acted far older than his years, but honestly…

“Yes. You don’t think I went through all this myself? I tried to talk Turko out of it, I tried to break them up, I – I made rather a mess of things, for a while.”  Curufin’s voice went low at the end, and Fëanor’s frown deepened.

“Curvo…”

“I didn’t trust Oromë either. I blamed him for everything Tyelko went through, I thought him a manipulator, an abuser, a villain of the worst kind. But dad,” Curufin’s voice was earnest, “I was wrong.”

“Did your brother put you up to this?” Fëanor’s voice was more angry than he wanted it to be, and he struggled to calm himself. “Did he tell you to call me?”

“ _No_. He has no idea. He’d probably flip out at me if he knew. Listen to me. I know how they got together was unorthodox, I know it should never have happened like that. But I believe, truly, that Oromë is a thoughtful and….trustworthy man. You know me, you know I wouldn’t use that word unless I believed it. And I know – belief has nothing to do with it – that he loves Tyelko more than anything, and Tyelko loves him back. I’ve never seen him happier than when he’s with Oromë. He’s less crazy when he’s with him, he’s honestly more there for us, he does less of the stupid nonsense he usually gets into…” Curufin’s voice trailed off. “I know that what Oromë did was wrong. But I don’t think he is wrong for Tyelko. Please, dad, you’ll hurt Tyelko much more if you pursue this.”

Fëanor’s mind had gone blank. “I don’t understand why you’re saying this.”

“I’m saying it because it’s true. And because you’re going to lose him if you do this.” Curufin’s voice had an edge of urgency in it. “And if _you_ lose him, _we_ might lose him too.”

“You’re not going to lose your brother,” said Fëanor forcefully.

“No, I’m not.” There was another long pause. “Because if forced to choose between him or you, I choose him.”

“What?”

“He’s going to cut off contact if you go after Oromë. And…so will I.”

Fëanor frantically sought his voice, which appeared to have left him along with his breath. “Curvo, what on earth… You can’t be serious. He must be putting you up to this – Put him on, I want to talk to him.”

“He has no idea I’m talking to you,” said Curufin steadily. “This was my decision. But you raised us to take care of each other, and that’s what I’m doing. You lose him, you lose me.”

“Curufinwë, you do not understand this situation, you do not understand what you’re saying. Your loyalty to your brother is admirable, but this is _insane_.” Fëanor broke off, listening frantically for Curufin’s response on the other end, but there was just silence. “Curvo!”

“I’ve said what I have to say,” said Curufin at last. “I urge you to reconsider your position on all this.” His voice had gone stiffly formal, and Fëanor closed his eyes, terrified and unable, for once in his life, to find the right words. “Goodbye, father.”

Fëanor kept the dead receiver pressed to his ear for a long time after the quiet click on the other end told him Curufin had hung up. When he finally opened his eyes, he was staring down at his desk, where his hand had clenched involuntarily on the letter he’d been writing, crumpling it beyond recognition.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Silje has lots of incredible artwork posted on her [Tumblr](http://silmarillle.tumblr.com/), and you guys should totally go check her out!


	42. Have a ball and let the world blow up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rugby players behaving badly. Well. One rugby player in particular. And a return to fun, for a little while at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. In which I lower everyone’s expectations for updates so I can awe and amaze ~  
> 1\. Warnings for some nasty language, implied violent confrontations, and a disturbing number of third-generation Finwions in the same place.

Celegorm leaned up against the wall of the gym, waiting for Aredhel to finish showering and emerge from the women’s locker-room so they could walk home together. He was just pulling out his phone to check the time – Curufin, who saved everything, had an old cell phone that Celegorm had been using since his had broken – when a group of people brushed past him. He glanced up, and went still.

It was the entire current Beleriand U. rugby team, filing out of the weight room from one of their off-season team workouts. As was often the case in these unofficial mid-year practices, there were even a few team alumni amongst them, many from Celegorm’s own year.

They noticed him at the same time he noticed them.

Most of them almost immediately looked away. Beleg dropped his head, avoiding his eyes, a flush on his cheeks, but the young, dark-haired kid next to him – Túrin, Celegorm thought his name was – stared at him with frank curiosity and disturbingly sharp grey eyes. Glorfindel was the only one who acknowledged him in a friendly enough way, with an embarrassed nod and a half smile. He drew up next to Celegorm, rocking uneasily on his feet, as the rest of the team passed by.

“Hey there,” Glorfindel said awkwardly, as Celegorm crossed his arms and shot him a look.

“I take it he told you all, then.”

“Yesterday,” said Glorfindel, his voice quiet.

“Team took it well, I see.” Celegorm curled his lip in what was supposed to be a careless grin, but instead turned into a bitter sneer.

“They…We’ll get used to it,” said Glorfindel, more quietly still. “It’s come as a bit of a shock, you know? And it’s a little alarming hearing about the investigation and everything…” he trailed off, his eyes finally meeting Celegorm’s, and there was something urgent in his expression. “I’m not judging, I swear, I only – I wanted to ask – ” Celegorm braced himself. Glorfindel looked like the question was physically painful, but he forced it out. “ – It was consensual, right?”

Celegorm let out a huff of breath, wanting to laugh, but the serious look on Glorfindel’s face arrested him. “Yeah,” he said. “It was, I promise. Consensual as _hell_ , but I bet you don’t want the details.”

“Not really,” said Glorfindel, though he looked relieved. “It’s…weird to think about, and I’m still wrapping my head around it – but I’m glad that he’s still the person I thought he was. More or less.”

“He is,” said Celegorm and wanted to say more, but wasn’t sure what Glorfindel would be comfortable hearing.

“That’s good to know,” said Glorfindel. “I hope everything works out for him – and for you.”

“Me too.” Celegorm felt suddenly that he’d never appreciated Glorfindel enough, an unexpected swell of warmth filling him at Glorfindel's earnest good-heartedness.

“And listen, if you – ” But Glorfindel was interrupted as his phone rang.  “Dammit.” He checked the screen. “I’m sorry, I should take this,” he said apologetically. “Um. See you around, Celegorm.”

“Yeah. See you.”

Glorfindel made for the door, and Celegorm began to unfold from the wall. As he straightened up, glancing around for Aredhel, he saw that not all the team had dispersed. Or rather, not all of the former team.

Mablung was standing there, watching him, a look of more profound disgust and dislike on his face than Celegorm had ever seen before – which was saying something. Almost immediately, he felt his muscles tense, preparing for a fight.

“So,” said Mablung softly. “Look who it is.”

“What do you want, Mablung?”

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” said Mablung, ignoring his question and moving closer. “Typical, really.”

“Look,” said Celegorm, after a beat. “Don’t be pissed at him – Blame me, it was my fault.”

Mablung laughed. “Don’t worry, I do blame you. I blame you for ruining the integrity of this team. I blame you for getting the best coach this school’s ever seen thrown out. I blame you for being such a fucking slut you couldn’t keep it in your pants until the end of the last fucking season you were even _playing_.”

Celegorm bared his teeth. “Watch it.”

“It fits with your background, doesn’t it? Everything you people touch you destroy, somehow.”

The familiar rage was rising in Celegorm, but he tried to suppress it. _Here’s a benefit to being estranged from your father_ , he tried to reason with himself, _you don’t have to get pissed at what people say about him._

_Except –_

Except that the fury still flared.

Mablung was watching him knowingly, his own hands balled at his sides, true anger in his eyes even though his face was fixed in a cold smirk. “C’mon, Fëanorion, don’t tell me _now_ of all times is when you’re gonna pussy out.”

Somehow, Mablung’s mocking voice brought Celegorm back to himself. He shook his head and loosened his fists. “I don’t care what shit you say to me. Vent as much as you fuckin’ want, I’m not going to fight you.”

“There’s a change.” Mablung narrowed his eyes, and changed tack. “How does it make you feel,” he asked quietly, getting close to Celegorm, “that even when you were sucking his cock, he wouldn’t make you captain? Not only were you not good enough on your own merit, you couldn’t even _sleep_ your way to the top. You clearly aren’t as hot shit as you think – or else your blowjob skills are _really_ sub par.”

Once again, Celegorm’s resolve slipped, his hands aching for violence, his brain flicking into the beautiful, slowed down place it went before a fight. Memories of a dozen fights with Mablung helpfully supplied him with pointers: _He has a weak left wrist from that sprain sophomore year, but avoid his right hook at all cost – we didn’t call him ‘Heavy Hand’ for nothing. He’ll be slower to react if you come at him from his bad side, and if he gets his shoulder into you, you’re probably going down. But he weighs less than you, and you can throw him if necessary…_

The thoughts flickered through as him fast as lightning, but were overpowered by a familiar voice echoing inside his head. _Remember to breathe, Tyelkormo._

He let his fists unclench. He let air fill his lungs.

-

Aredhel emerged from the locker room, shaking her hair free of snarls, an apology ready on her lips for making Celegorm wait. She paused when she saw that he was talking to someone, and her lips tightened with nerves as she read his stance. She was in his line of sight but he hadn’t noticed her yet, and she knew from the look on his face that his vision had probably narrowed to the exclusion of all but the figure in front of him. She held her breath as she took in the tightness of his shoulders and the cold thunder on his face, trying to make out the conversation he was having. She caught the last few words of the exchange, and anger made the blood pound in her own ears. _There’s no way he’s going to take that lying down._ But even as she braced herself to intercede, she saw Celegorm’s chest rise in a deep breath, his eyes momentarily closing. Then he turned, arms held stiffly at his sides, and walked out. He didn’t stop, even though the word his aggressor called after him made him flinch momentarily at the door, as though every inch of him yearned to turn back.

But he didn’t.

Aredhel had no such compunctions.

-

Celegorm tried to take another deep breath, but he was so angry he felt as though his chest was curling in on itself. He felt for the inner breast pocket of his coat, where he kept an emergency pack of cigarettes. He knew Oromë hated when he came back stinking of smoke, but – “Preferable to me coming home from a fight, at least,” Celegorm muttered, and lit up.

He’d only taken a couple drags when he heard someone came up behind him, and he turned swiftly, prepared to face down Mablung again.

“Those things will kill you, you know,” said a familiar voice instead, and Aredhel grinned at him before plucking the cigarette from between his fingers and bringing it to her own lips.

Celegorm grunted, not sure if he was relieved or disappointed not to have another chance to confront Mablung. His eyes settled on Aredhel’s hand as she held the cigarette to her mouth. He frowned, distracted, at the fresh scrapes on her knuckles. “What did you do to your hand?”

Aredhel held both hand and cigarette out in front of her, examining them critically. “Hum. Must’ve happened when I hit that guy in the mouth.”

“When you _what_?”

Aredhel shrugged, beautifully calm. “Ahh, you know how it is. This guy got in my way, maybe he pushed me – maybe I imagined it – but you know how reactive and belligerent I am…”

“You-”

“So I was all, ‘yo you talkin’ to me, bro? Huh? HUH?’ and got all up in his face, because I cannot HAVE people giving me lip, even when I walk into them on purpose.” Aredhel took another drag on the cigarette and blew smoke over her shoulder. “That’s when I socked him in the teeth. It was probably an overreaction, but you know how we bitches be crazy.”

Celegorm was staring at her. “What guy was this, exactly?”

“Mad Lung or something. Think that’s a gang name? I suppose it’s possible I misheard, of course.” Aredhel’s eyes were twinkling, and Celegorm gaped at her, awestruck.

“Ireth…”

“Yes?” said Aredhel sweetly, grinding the cigarette butt under her heel.

“I am so fuckin’ in love with you.” Celegorm reached out and pulled her into a rib-cracking hug that he finished off with a smacking kiss on the lips. “Goddamn, girl.”

“I know,” said Aredhel blithely. “But hey, let’s get a move on, okay? I’d really rather not be here when he comes out. I’m hoping no one called the cops, but you never know.”

They took off down the street, Aredhel calling over her shoulder, “Hey, Wolf Boy, know what I think?”

“What’s that, Hulk?”

“I think we need to have some _fun_.”

“I think you are _correct_.”

Snow started to fall as their footsteps rang out on the cold street, their laughter echoing off the still and silent buildings.

 

* * *

 

 _Mass text from Celegorm_ : EYO. family touch-football game, himlad park, tmrw afternoon. HELLA SNOW, HELLA FUN. be there or ur dead to me and u have also betrayed the family. ireth says so too.

 _Aredhel_ : It true.

 

 _Fingon_ : I’m in. Don’t worry about Mae, I’ll drag him along.

 

 _Curufin_ : Excuse me, have we met? Besides, I’m busy.

 

 _Maedhros_ : Apparently yes? According to Findekano.

 

 _Caranthir_ : Can’t, got stuff to do. Also football=gross

 

 _Aegnor_ : HELL YES

 

 _Galadriel_ : I suppose I could use a break from homework. Are Ireth and I going to be the only girls again?

 _Galadriel_ : We’ll shame you anyway.

 

 _Finrod_ : Can’t, sorry! Busy this afternoon... :(

 

 _Maglor_ : D: whyyy do you choose these kind of pastimes

 

 _Turgon_ : I guess…It’s not tackle, right?

 

 _Argon_ : bOOm. i’ll be there.

 

 _Amrod_ : yissyiesssiessyess also

 _Amrod_ : i am going to kick ur ass for leavin us out of things

 _Amrod_ : important things

 _Amrod_ : YOU HAVING A SNEAKY BOYFRIEND AND NOT TELLING US THINGS

 _Amrod_ : how dare u

 _Amrod_ : >:(

 

 _Amras_ : YAS

 _Amras_ : but also i shouldn’t even b talking to you traitor

 _Amras_ : YOU KEPT THINGS HIDDEN

 _Amras_ : WE R FAMILY. FMAILY MEANS GIVING US THE GOSSIP U DICK

 

 _Amrod_ : anyway

 _Amrod_ : see u soon

 

 _Maglor:_ yeah, i’m def not coming. but does this mean you’re feeling more yourself again?

 

 _Celegorm_ : what r we gonna do with u kano? u sentimnetal lil sap.

 

 _Maglor:_ is that a yes?

 

 _Celegorm_ : when u least expect it i will kidnap u and make u do sports. xoxox

 

 _Maglor_ : i love you too. still not coming.

 

* * *

 

 

“Bratwurst! Puppies! Mexico! _Hike_!”

“Dumbass, that’s not how a snap count works.”

“Sez you.”

“Sez _everyone._ Randy Moss is rolling over in his grave right now.”

“I know enough about football to know he’s not dead, you philistine.”

“Oh, god, this game is a disaster.”

“ _You’re_ a disaster.”

“Where’d the ball go? Is anyone paying attention? Oh. Nerwen just scored again.”

Himlad Park was blanketed in snow, though enterprising dog walkers and joggers had broken paths around the circumference. In the center of the park, where in summer there was a wide field, the snow had been slightly trampled down by a dozen determined feet, though it still stood in uneven drifts to the knees in some places. And just now Fingon was trying to get his team to follow the play he’d laid out in their huddle.

“No, go _long,_ Turno! The other – the _other_ direction! Where’s – Pityo, you’re on _my_ team, remember?”

Amrod and Amras were standing together on the field, whispering together, and Amrod had stooped down to start packing snowballs. The twins seemed to have trouble remembering they’d been chosen to opposing sides, or else spent more of their time yelling smack talk at each other than actually paying attention to the game.

Turgon eventually caught the pass that Aegnor threw, but he almost immediately fumbled it in alarm as Celegorm approached him.

“Damnit, Tyelko,” he said, as he ended up face down in the snow, and Aredhel let out a gleeful ululation. “It’s _touch_ football!”

“Whoops,” said Celegorm unconcernedly, holding out a hand to pull Turgon to his feet. “Instinct, you know. Is that a turn-over?”

Aredhel grabbed the ball from where it had landed and tossed it hand to hand. “I’m going to say…yes.”

Fingon pointed an accusatory finger at Maedhros, who was standing on the other side of the field, looking like he was hoping no one would notice him. “How did we allow those two to end up on the same team? _Your_ team, at that.”

“It just happened,” said Maedhros, as Celegorm and Aredhel high-fived. “And your team is still up by three…”

“Not for long,” said Celegorm. “Get into position, Nelyo, and try to remember how to catch a ball.”

 

-

 

Snow was falling again, and Argon and Aegnor were having a pitched snowball fight with the twins while a vociferous debate was taking place over the legality of a certain play.

“It was out of bounds.”

“It wasn’t! It landed right next to that pile of dogshit, it was totally in bounds.”

“Moron, that pile of dogshit is past the pine tree. That’s our _line_.”

“Are you kidding me? The line isn’t the pine tree, it’s the maple…”

“Well,” said Celegorm at last, “can we at least agree that I am hamstrung by having _this_ useless heap on my team?” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Maedhros, who scowled at him.

“Once again I’d like to register my objections to that descriptor.”

“Denied. You’ve let Artanis score twice now. _Twice_.”

“It’s not Nelyo’s fault,” said Galadriel serenely. “I’m faster than he is.”

Celegorm threw up his hands. “Nelyo, your legs are like as long as Irissë’s whole body – ”

“Hey,” said Aredhel.

“ – and you used to run cross-country! How can you not take down one _kinda_ speedy chick?”

“For the last time,” said Turgon, arms folded, brows drawn. “No one is supposed to be taking _anyone_ down. This is _touch football_ , and if I get tackled one more time, I swear I'm just going to go hide out in that igloo those middle school kids made to get high in and you guys can do this without me.”

“I said I was sorry,” said Aredhel, but she winked at Celegorm.

Aegnor, who wasn’t paying attention to the fierce discussion, fired off a snowball that caught Argon in the back of the head.

Argon shook his head wildly, sending snow flying from his now frosted hair, and called, “Just give everybody three points and let’s keep playing! My toes are frozen and I don’t remember which demon is on my team anymore.”

“Ambarussa is,” said Amras and Amrod together, and resumed burying a happily wriggling Huan in snow.

The snow much more trampled down now, gameplay resumed. Argon fired a pass downfield that Aredhel leapt up and caught. Celegorm, however, ran straight at her, as Fingon roared, “What the hell are you doing, Tyelko? Are you tackling your own teammate?”

But instead, Celegorm caught Aredhel around the waist, slung her over his shoulder, and charged for the pile of frozen scarves that served as the goal-line. Aredhel let out a war whoop as they crossed the line and both toppled headlong into the snow.

“Oh yeah! Double score!”

Celegorm held his arms in the air, even as he sprawled on the ground, out of breath. “Classic…ruse. Often seen in more…advanced…gameplay. If two players…with one ball…make it to the end zone…double points. Happens in the NFL…all the time.”

Fingon and Aegnor made outraged noises, but Galadriel just nodded thoughtfully. “You forget, however,” she said. “That both players’ hands must be on the ball when crossing the line, otherwise it counts as a triple score for the opposing team and the violators must yield an item of clothing.”

“Yes,” said Turgon, before Celegorm and Aredhel could protest. “I’ve read the rulebook _extensively_ , and I can verify that this is true. Which item of clothing will you each be removing?”

“Your face,” said Aredhel, from the snow. “Ouch damn, Tyelko, get off my leg.”

“I’ll remove all my clothing if you ask nicely enough, Turukáno,” said Celegorm, rolling over to free Aredhel’s leg and leering at Turgon. “But only for you.”

“Oh, good,” said Fingon. “He’s graduated to hitting on you instead of me. Godspeed.”

There was a distinct devolution of sportsmanship for a while, involving much throwing of snow and stealing of hats, interspersed with very little actual throwing of the football, and an overly excited dog getting in everybody’s way.

Amras and Argon ended up targeting Maedhros as he attempted to throw the ball to Fingon, who had more or less given up on actually playing the game. Maedhros went down in a barrage of snowballs, yelping as snow got down his neck.

“Taken down by my own team,” he said dramatically as he sank to his knees. “What treachery. What underhandedness. Backstabbers. What – _oof_.” Amras sprawled across him, and the football spun away, to be picked up by Argon. 

“Typical,” said Fingon, hands on his hips. “Leaving me hanging.”

In the midst of the hubbub, Huan took off suddenly with a joyful bark, and Celegorm straightened up.

“Ey! Dog, what you do?”

Huan was bee-lining for the edge of the park, snow flying up around him as he plowed through the unshoveled piles. He pulled up short, leaping happily around a tall man walking an equally large dog.

Celegorm grinned as he recognized both figures. “Hang on.”

“Where’s he going?” said Aegnor indignantly as Celegorm took off for the edge of the park after Huan. But instead of grabbing the dog, he flung himself into the arms of the man, who took a step back, swaying as Celegorm hit him, but then wrapped his arms around Celegorm’s waist and pulled him close for a kiss.

“Whoa. What’s going on?” Argon dropped the football, staring.

Amrod and Amras giggled and dropped into the snow, where they started making small but unmistakably crude snow sculptures. Maedhros looked resigned, while Fingon let out a whistle, and Aredhel beamed, her hands clasped under her chin. “ _Aww._ ”

" _Oh_." Galadriel had an arrested look on her face, half confusion, half intense frustration.

“Hanging in there, Artanis?” Aredhel tugged on Galadriel’s sleeve.

“I didn’t see that coming,” muttered Galadriel. “I didn’t know. How did I not guess…? I should have put two and two together…”

“It was a secret,” said Aredhel soothingly. “It really only came out recently.”

Galadriel looked even more put out. “That has NEVER been a problem for me before. And look how many of you knew!” She gestured at the group of spectators, only a couple of whom looked genuinely astonished. Amrod and Amras were arguing with Maedhros about the possibility of getting autographs. “I must be slipping.” She sounded severely annoyed. “I blame my brother for distracting me with his nonsense while far more significant things were unfolding.” She adjusted her scarf with a jerk, her eyes flashing. “Unacceptable. But I suppose this might explain that conversation I heard between Aunt Nerdanel and my mother over Uncle Fëanaro having two sons who weren’t talking to him…”

“Wait, _two_ sons?”

Aredhel’s startled ejaculation rang in unison with Maedhros’, who had been listening unnoticed over Galadriel’s shoulder. “Has something happened I don’t know about?”

 

-

 

Celegorm hung onto Oromë’s neck and laughed as Oromë shook his head at him. “You are drenched and freezing. Why did you feel the need to come share this with me?”

“Because I can.” Celegorm pressed his cold nose to Oromë’s cheek. “Because even though I know we’re not even close to out of the woods, I’m sure as hell gonna take advantage of being able to kiss you in public. No more hiding, right?”

Even though Oromë had spent the afternoon on the phone with the university’s lawyers, and then with the attorney Vána had made him hire, he couldn’t help but smile down at Celegorm, true happiness filling him. “No more hiding,” he agreed, and as he kissed Celegorm again, he caught sight of the rapt crowd watching them from over Celegorm’s shoulder. “Um. There seem to be a number of young people staring at us, some armed with projectiles.”

“Oh, yeah.” Celegorm pulled back and glanced over his shoulder at the crowd of his cousins and siblings, several of whom appeared to be organizing a human pyramid from which to yell things and throw snowballs in Celegorm’s general direction. “Have you ever had the urge to meet a dozen members of my family all at once? No? Well, unless you run now, it’s about to happen. Listen, you raise dogs, right? This is just like that; you’ll be fine as long as you don’t let them sense your fear.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2\. (I swear Mablung isn’t actually a villain. Just another young man with poor coping mechanisms.)


	43. We ran home like a base hit (safe)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 0\. I feel like I should just warn for Curufin, being Curufin. Also there is fluff, if you need to brace yourself for that. Also some slightly tormented hook-ups in the last scene.

The light was failing and Maedhros’ clothes were soaked through, but he shook his head as Fingon started rounding people up to drive them home from the park.

“Maitimo, we only have three spots in the car, you better claim yours.”

“That’s okay, I think I’ll walk.”

“What?” Fingon frowned at him. “It’s getting dark, it’s freezing out, and we're like five miles from the apartment.”

“I’ll meet you at home, okay?” said Maedhros, very quietly, shooting a look to where the twins and Celegorm were still gathered with their cousins, laughing at a snow-matted Huan. “Make sure Tyelko gives the Ambarussa a ride home, or to the end of their street at least, if he's still avoiding mom and dad. I need to swing by the house first.”

“Our house?”

“No, my house,” said Maedhros, and caught himself. “I mean, my old place. My brothers’ place. I’ll be back around dinner, I promise.”

Fingon looked at him curiously but didn’t ask any questions, just picking a piece of ice out of Maedhros’ hair before brushing the snow from his shoulders. “Okay.”

As Maedhros headed down the sidewalk, he shook his damp hair out of his eyes and took out his cell phone to flick through his contacts for the number he was looking for. The line rang twice before a brisk voice said, “Yes?”

“It’s Nelyo.”

“Yes, I know. Caller ID has been around for this _entire_ century, and even earlier than that, so rumor has it. Remarkable, isn’t it?”

Maedhros ignored this. “Where are you?”

“Are you taking census?”

“Just tell me where I can find you.”

A sigh echoed down the line. “I am sitting in a chair,” Curufin said, very slowly and patiently, “at my desk. In approximately the southwest corner of my room. This being the third room on the second floor of the house, the two story Victorian at 1495 Mithrim Lake Road, Beleriand, USA, 014 – ”

“I _get_ it, Curvo. So you’re at home.”

“Are you tracking me down? It may be easier simply to install a homing beacon in the skin on the back my neck. Tyelko could use the microchip implanter from the shelter…”

“I’m coming over.”

“How delightful for us all.”

Maedhros hung up, dropping the phone into his coat pocket, and quickened his stride.

Back at 1495 Mithrim Lake Road in his room on the second floor, where he was not actually at his desk in the southwest corner, but on his bed, Curufin hung up and shot a look at the figure stretched out next to him. “So _y_ _ou're_ going to have to leave now. I’m still not convinced you’re right about troubleshooting that bug, but I’ll try what you suggest. And oh,” he added, his business-like tone slipping slightly, “don’t forget your shirt.”

 

* * *

 

By the time Maedhros’ light knock came at his door, Curufin was seated at his desk, bent over a circuit board, his spark gap sizzling next to him. The window was cracked to let fresh air in, and the room was quickly getting cold.

“Come in,” he said, as Maedhros waited, like he always did, for his invitation to open the door. “How was the football game?” he asked with a twitch of his lips that might have been a smirk.

“Cold,” said Maedhros, and cut to the chase. Celegorm would be home at any minute.  “Have you talked to father recently?”

“Probably,” said Curufin, and turned back to his work.

“And when you talked to him, did you tell him you were going to cut him out of your life if he continued his attack on Oromë?”

Curufin stilled, his eyes flickering in the light from his desk lamp. “Why would you ask me that?”

“Just answer me. Did you tell father you weren’t going to speak to him again until he stopped going after Tyelko and Oromë?”

Curufin looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. “Yes, I may have said something to that effect.”

Maedhros let out a breath. “ _Why_?”

“Why not?” Curufin shrugged and made a note on his engineering pad.

Maedhros crouched down next to Curufin’s desk, looking at him seriously. “Did Tyelko put you up to this? Did he make you feel like you had to do this?”

“Excuse me?”

“I know you two are close, I know you want to…make amends for what you did during the beginning of their relationship. But you don’t have to feel like you’re in some way indebted to him…”

Curufin narrowed his eyes. “Give me the barest minimum of credit,” he growled, and the spark gap on his desk hummed and snapped as if in response. “Has anyone ever ‘put me up to’ something? Have I _ever_ done something for any other reason than because I want to? I swear, you people who act like I am _coercible_ , or malleable, or prone to thinking I _owe_ anyone anything clearly have never met me.”

 _I have never been taken advantage of in my life,_ said a voice in Maedhros’ memory, and he muttered, half to himself. “You two are more alike than people give you credit for.”

“What?”

“Nothing. So Tyelko has no idea?”

“Of course not. He doesn’t need to.”

“You think he won’t notice when you no longer interact with our father?”

“It won’t come to that,” said Curufin, cool and assured. “Maybe he’d keep going regardless if it was a threat from another one of you,” he said it blandly, brutally, “but at the risk of losing me? I think not.”

Downstairs, the door slammed, and Celegorm called, “Yo, is anyone home? If we don’t order pizza or something now I swear I’m gonna just eat this dog. Yes, _you_. Oof, get down, pup.”

“Time to go,” said Curufin softly. “Do send your Nolofinwion my regards, and my condolences about the company _downsizing_ I’ve heard rumors of.”

Maedhros got to his feet, staring down at his little brother for a beat, but didn’t say anything as he turned and made his way to the door.

“Shut it behind you,” said Curufin, intent once more on his work, and Maedhros did.

 

* * *

 

 

After weeks of heavy snow, a thaw came with unexpected intensity, plunging the landscape from deep midwinter into full-blown mud season. Melting snow banks still lined the street, but Maglor was wearing a tee shirt as he stood in their driveway, looking deeply unhappy.

“Have you found anything?”

“Give me a moment, damn. This kind of work cannot be _rushed_.”

Celegorm leaned low over the open hood of the car, his sleeves pushed up over his forearms, his eyes narrowed in intense focus.

Maglor waited patiently.

At last Celegorm straightened up, wiping an arm over his forehead and leaving a streak of grease.

“Well?” asked Maglor. “What’s wrong with it?”

Celegorm leaned his hip against the bumper. “Haven’t a goddamn clue.”

“Oh, _seriously_ , Tyelko?” Maglor threw his arms up and aimed a kick at a chunk of muddy ice, sending it skittering into the garage door.

Celegorm shrugged. “I don’t actually know anything about cars. I just know how to look good leaning up against one. Ask Curvo if you want real knowledge.”

“I swear to god,” muttered Maglor, heading for the house, “someday I’m going to use your airhead to inflate the tires on the car, that’s all the good you do me… CURVO!”

Another half an hour passed. When Curufin finally emerged from the bowels of the car – still amazingly less grease-streaked than Celegorm – his lips were pursed and his eyes meditative.

“Well?” said Maglor again, with less hope.

“The fluid levels I dealt with, and I identified a minor leak in one of the brake lines. But the major problem is the transmission, and for _that_ you’ll need to go to a garage.”

“You really can’t do anything about it?” asked Maglor.

“If I decided I didn’t care about getting schoolwork done and you also provided me with several hundred dollars worth of tools and labor costs – and a lift – then maybe.”

“So when hell freezes over,” Celegorm translated helpfully.

“Yes.”

Curufin and Celegorm both leaned against the car and watched Maglor with interest as he let out a groan and sagged to the ground, heedless of the mud and melting snow.

“You’re getting mud on your ass,” Celegorm said.

“And in your hair,” Curufin pointed out. “But it can’t be any worse than your usual conditioning regimen.”

They both flinched and put their hands over their ears as Maglor shouted at the top of his voice, “I’m supposed to be going to New York this weekend, I’ve been planning this for months, what THE FUCK do I do now??”

 

* * *

 

Cuiviénen was humid and warm with spice smells, quiet with the murmurs of studying college students. Behind the bar, Maglor, unaffected by the mellow atmosphere of the cafe, was being rather violent with the milk frother, and his manager shot him a quelling look as she passed through to the backroom. Wrinkling his nose in frustration but making his motions more slow and deliberate, Maglor returned to the drink he’d neglected.

“Chai latte, skim milk, for …” He frowned at his co-worker’s scrawl. “Nero?”

“That’s probably meant to be Ría, somehow,” said a familiar voice, and he started, raising his head. Ríanellë was standing in front of the counter, a bulky bag slung over her shoulder.

“Oh. Hey.”

“Hey.” Ríanellë smiled, and shifted her bag to her other shoulder as she took the cup with a nod of appreciation. “Thank you.”

“Sure.” Maglor made to turn away, busying himself with the espresso machine, but Ríanellë arrested him.

“Actually, Maglor, I admit I came here with ulterior motive. Any chance you’d be able to take a break sometime soon?”

 

-

 

Sitting with Ríanellë in the alley behind Cuiviénen was an odd sort of déjà vu, despite it being daylight and both of them were sober this time, though Maglor was wishing, slightly, that he wasn’t.

“What’s up?” he asked, trying to sound careless and casual.

“Ecthelion asked me to come by.”

Of the many things he’d been expecting her to say, this wasn’t one, and it took Maglor aback. “Why?”

Ríanellë patted her bag. “He had a bunch of your music and books and a couple cables to return.”

“Why didn’t he want to come by himself?” A thought occurred to him, and Maglor looked down. “…Oh. My brother told me…about your family and…mine. My dad, not my family, I guess. My dad’s factory, I mean. Well, sort of. Not that…but yeah. The accident. Has he decided he doesn’t want to…associate with me?” He raised his eyes unhappily, expecting to see dire accusation in her face. 

But Ríanellë was laughing as Maglor stuttered through this incoherent statement. “ _No_ , that's not it at all. Oh god, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh, but if you could see your face…Thank you, actually, I needed to laugh today.”

“Glad I could entertain you,” said Maglor, annoyed. “What is actually going on then?”

“Ecthelion headed off to basic training earlier than we all excepted,” Ríanellë said, and her smile faded. “He left last night, and asked if I could run a few errands he meant to do himself but couldn’t get to. Like returning your things.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.” Ríanellë held out the bag, and Maglor took it, knowing his cheeks were burning at his awkwardness.

“I didn’t know who you were,” he said, holding the bag in both arms and feeling foolish. “I didn’t recognize your last name or anything like Nelyo did. And I’m really terrible at talking about these kind of things anyway, honestly, I…I spent the last few years pretending the fire never happened. Because I was ashamed, I think.” His blush was getting worse; he could tell he was rambling, and probably over-sharing, but Ríanellë was watching him with clear dark eyes and there was nothing judgmental or accusatory in her gaze. “Even if I had known who you were – who Ecthelion is, too, I guess – I probably just would have acted the same. Acted dumb.”

“It would have been a stretch but I trust you could have pulled it off,” said Ríanellë, a hint of amusement in her voice. “Maglor, I really don’t need to have it out with you about Alqualondë. Like I explained to your brother, my family isn’t interested in recrimination or anything like that. It was just coincidence that our paths crossed, and coincidence that I spent an evening with you after you'd already been spending time with my brother. Ecthelion knew who you were from the start, and he always liked you.”

Maglor felt a surge of affection for Ecthelion. “Really? I liked him too. He’s an amazing flautist and was so easy to play with, it’s a shame I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

“He hopes to play some with the Marine Corps Band,” said Ríanellë, and she looked suddenly liked she was going to cry. “Oh, shit. Hang on.” She fumbled in her pocket, pulling out a familiar-looking red bandana, and hastily swiped at her eyes. “ _God_ , I thought I’d done all my leaking and wailing already. Apparently not.”

Maglor patted her arm feebly. “I guess it must have been hard to see him go, huh?”

“Yeah,” said Ríanellë, muffled into the bandana. “We were doing really good about being ready for him to leave, you know, we had everything planned out and we were all going to drive him down together…but then they moved the date up unexpectedly and all of a sudden we were having to say goodbye in like 12 hours and my mom and dad were being super brave about it and then he got on the bus and left and we all totally fell apart.” She blew her nose. “Oof. Anyway, yeah, he enjoyed getting to play with you. He said you were the most talented composer he’d ever met.”

“He’s never met Daeron,” said Maglor drily, “but that was nice of him to say.”

Ríanellë shrugged. “I dunno about Daeron’s song-writing chops, but I prefer your voice and style to his.”

“You’ve heard us both?”

“I went to a couple of your shows back when you used to play Thursday nights at Ulmo’s.”

Maglor groaned. “Oh my god, that’s so embarrassing.”

Ríanellë grinned, wiping at the last of her tears and tucking the bandana back into her pocket. “No shame in 80s cover night…”

“Not true. LOTS of shame.”

Ríanellë sat down on the same step they’d shared on Open Mic Night, and tucked her feet under her. “My girlfriends and I used to pregame in our dorm room and then go down to Ulmo’s to drunk-dance to your band’s music and not actually buy anything to drink there because even the $3 PBRs were too expensive for us. The owners thought we were the worst, which was probably true. My roommate had SUCH a crush on Daeron, though. Where is he, these days?”

Maglor sat down next to her, their hips and shoulders brushing with the same ease of that night so many weeks before. He’d expected to feel more awkward about physical contact with her, but Ríanellë felt warm and comfortable against his side, and he shuffled his feet on the alley cobblestones, his hands between his knees as he remembered why thinking about Daeron right now gave him a tense, anxious feeling as well as the usual mix of fondness and resentment. “He’s in New York now, working with a producer.” He scowled down at his hands. “I was supposed to visit him this weekend, actually, I even got my shifts covered for the next week and a half so I could stay longer. We were going to hang out and catch up, maybe play a bit together…”

“You _were_ going to?”

“My car broke down.” Maglor’s scowl deepened. “It won’t be repaired for weeks, even once we get the money to fix it – because we’re really trying not to ask my dad for financial help anymore, but none of us exactly makes big bucks – and I thought I could get bus tickets, but it turns out the bus is booked _solid_ because it’s a holiday weekend and…I dunno. I guess it’s not happening.”

Ríanellë wasn’t looking at him, but she was smiling slightly.

"You think that's funny too?"

Ríanellë shook her head, her bangs falling into her eyes. “ _Serendipity_ ,” she sang quietly under her breath.

“What?”

“I just happen to be driving down to New York City this weekend,” she said cheerfully. “And I could use a good co-pilot to help me not freak out about city drivers. Wanna come?”

 

* * *

 

 

 _Mass text from Turgon_ : I know this is random, but does anyone want some kittens? I have two at my new place, first come first served.

 

 _Celegorm_ : i have so many things i wanna say about that i dunno where 2 start

 

 _Argon_ : i thought your cat was spayed dude. tsk irresponsible cat owner

 _Argon_ : get ur pets spayed and neutered its like the 1st rule smh

 

 _Aegnor_ : did you give birth to them yourself?

           

 _Turgon_ : THEY ARE NOT MINE NOR ARE THEY MY CAT’S

 _Turgon_ : I didn’t even find them it was my new roommate

 _Turgon_ : just tell me if you want to adopt them

 

 _Maedhros_ : Hm, maybe…Two, you said?

 

 _Fingon_ : NOPE. Ignore Mae. He’s forgetting there are no pets allowed at our place (and cats makes me sneeze)

 

 _Aredhel_ : DIBS DIBS DIBS DIBS

 _Aredhel_ : i’ll be there in 30 min txt me ur address

 _Aredhel_ : (is it ok if elenwe comes?)

 _Aredhel_ : (if it’s not that’s totally fine)

 

 _Turgon_ : it’s okay, bring her.

 _Turgon_ : just sent you the address

 _Turgon_ : see you soon

 

-

 

Elenwë was watching a tiny orange kitten with white boots race from one end of the couch to the other, sometimes falling over in its own exuberance.

“Oh my gosh,” she was saying, enraptured. “She’s _so pretty_. What did you say her name was?”

“You’d have to ask Bëor,” said Turgon, who was sitting on the floor, propped against an unpacked box of his belongings, studying and kitten-watching simultaneously. “He’s the one who found them on his way home from work when the snow bank in the back-lot melted.”

“Bëor? That’s the new roommate?”

“Technically _I’m_ the new roommate,” said Turgon, as the little orange kitten latched onto his foot. “This is Bëor’s place. But yeah, that’s him.”

“Why does that name sound so familiar?” asked Aredhel. The second kitten, who was soot black and jumped every time anyone moved unexpectedly, was trying busily to burrow into her sweater.

“He was Findaráto’s roommate freshman year,” said Turgon. “Ingo’s the one who helped me find this place, actually, when he heard Bëor needed another person on his lease.” He reached out to pet the black kitten’s head, and the kitten sank surprisingly sharp teeth into his finger. “ _Ouch_. Hey, I gave you food and made you a bed from my new fleece jacket, talk about _ingratitude_.”

“I don’t think he likes guys,” said Aredhel, stroking the kitten’s head. He ran up her arm and hid in her hair. “Smart baby. I’m _definitely_ keeping him.”

“Bëor will be glad to hear it.”

“Did someone say my name?” A stocky man with warm brown eyes, a rough dark beard, and his hair in a ponytail came into the room. “Oh, hello. Are these the potential kitten mamas?”

“Hey, Bëor,” said Turgon. “This is my sister, Aredhel, and her… My… Well, _her_ …”

“I’m Elenwë,” said Elenwë, sparing Turgon as he blundered his way into silence. “Turno said I should ask you for the kittens’ names?”

Bëor crouched down as the orange kitten launched herself at his work boot. “I haven’t named the little lady one yet,” he said, as the cat gnawed at his bootlace. “But we’ve already started calling the mean little black one – ”

“You were Findaráto’s roommate?” interrupted Aredhel, who’d been studying him and not paying attention. “Were you at graduation then? I feel like we would have seen you.”

Bëor shook his head. “I never graduated,” he said cheerfully. “Did my first semester at Beleriand then dropped out to work full-time.”

“He’s the factory-workers union rep,” said Turgon, shaking blood from the kitten bite on his finger. “He works a lot with dad and Findekáno doing contract negotiation and so on.”

“Fingolfin is a heckuva lot easier to negotiate with than Fëanor, that’s for sure,” said Bëor, grinning. “Uh, no offense,” he added hastily. “I always forget that’s your uncle…”

“Step-uncle,” said Aredhel, as Turgon said, “None taken.”

“So,” said Bëor, returning to the kittens. The orange one had scampered back to Elenwë’s lap, while the black one was watching everything beadily from its perch on Aredhel’s shoulder. “You think you’re going to adopt these horrible critters? What are you going to name yours, Elenwë?”

Elenwë smiled down at her kitten, watching tiny white paws bat at her finger. “This beautiful little girl? Idril, I think. How about yours, Ireth?”

Aredhel lifted the black kitten from her shoulder, making silly faces at it as it growled and narrowed its eyes at her, whiskers quivering. “Yes, we’re talking about you, you little dope. Sweet honey baby peanut. What did you say you’d been calling him?”

“I didn’t,” said Bëor. “But it’s Maeglin.”

“Maeglin,” said Aredhel thoughtfully, and tickled the kitten’s stomach. It looked shocked and like it was briefly contemplating biting her, but then stretched out under her touch, a faint, raspy purr coming from its thin chest. “…Mind if I change it?”

 

* * *

 

 

Curufin checked his phone, but there were no new texts, missed call, or voicemails. Just as there hadn’t been the last time he’d checked.

Chewing his lip, he flicked open a new message and started typing.

 

_Tyelko. Are you with Orome right now?_

 

_yeah. lots more time to hang out now hes on ‘leave’! ha ha. :P_

 

_His lawyers think that’s a good idea, you two being at his house together while the investigation is going on?_

 

_yea, cuz i totally consulted with his lawyers before i came over._

 

Curufin tried not to roll his eyes.

 

_And the investigation IS ongoing then? Neither of you have heard anything from father?_

 

_uhh, ofc its still on. ofc dad is still nailing us at every turn._

_and I havent heard anything from him cuz his # is BLOCKED on this phone, yo._

 

_Really? He hasn’t called Orome either? No change on his part?_

 

_NO curvo, are you kidding?_

_what makes you think he’d change his mind?_

_he never changes his fucking mind._

 

_Just wondering._

 

Curufin set down his phone, trying to ignore the acid churning in his stomach, an odd mix of anxiety, disappointment, and something that was close to dread.

_Did I misjudge this?_

He attempted and abandoned work on his circuit board, his problem set, and CLBRMBR in short succession, and ran his hand through his hair so many times he was sure it was standing on end.

It was growing late when his phone buzzed and he nearly jumped out his skin. He grabbed for it, and it was the first time he’d ever been disappointed to see that particular name pop up on his phone.

 

_Hey, what are you up to?_

 

Curufin stared down at the text. He’d been so _sure_ it was going to be his father, calling to…apologize? Tell him things had changed? Say that everything was all right and could go back to normal…

His phone vibrated again.

  

_How’s your day been?_

_(Yes, I am making small talk.)_

 

Even though there was nothing but unhappiness washing through him just now, he knew that in lieu of what he needed, what he wanted, above all, right now, was…

…distraction.

 

_Come over._

_no more small talk, I see._

_No. Come over._

_Are you all right?_

_You ask the most idiotic questions._

_COME. OVER._

_Okay._

_I’m on my way._

 

Curufin didn’t bother with any more work that night, pacing his room briefly before flinging himself down on his bed and trying to pick up _The Design of Everyday Things_ again, but rereading the same paragraph over and over, all focus lost.

When his door finally opened, very quietly, and Finrod slipped in, Curufin sat up, his fingers itching with impatience.

“Hello,” said Finrod softly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t quicker, I had to – ”

Curufin ignored him, reaching out to grab him and pull him into a rough, artless kiss. His teeth snagged on Finrod’s lower lip, but instead of pulling back he bit down, tasting blood. Finrod let out a sharp breath through his nose and brought his hands up to grip Curufin’s shoulders. Curufin fought his gentling touch and pushed back instead, but Finrod was insistent, breaking their kiss, blood on his lips as he held Curufin still. “Whoa,” he said. “Take it easy, Curvo, slow down a little.”

Curufin wanted to scream at him, but instead found his hands clutching desperately at Finrod’s shirt as if seeking stability. Finrod wrapped steadying arms around Curufin’s waist, bringing them chest to chest and hip to hip, letting Curufin feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. “Do you want to tell me what’s up?”

“Nothing’s up,” said Curufin, staring at him, eyes fixed on the blood still dotting Finrod’s lips. He suddenly felt a little sick.

Finrod steered them both to the bed and sat down, tugging Curufin after him so Curufin was practically in his lap. Curufin wriggled free, simultaneously craving more touch and wanting to hit at Finrod to stop him being so gentle. The concern in Finrod’s eyes was causing his throat to close up, and it made him savage with self-disgust.  He was about to say something snarling and cruel to remedy it when Finrod leaned forward and kissed him again. This time it was without the sting of teeth or taste of blood, but still a note beyond gentle, and Curufin sighed with relief, his hands dropping to Finrod’s thighs as he leaned in to deepen the kiss. Finrod’s hands settled on his waist, and Curufin closed his eyes, trying to find the right balance between utter absorption in the kiss and his natural instinct to overanalyze every detail of the physical contact. When had he last brushed his teeth, what was that taste on his tongue, why was Finrod’s breath so hot on his cheek, where –

A noise from downstairs made them jump apart, listening. Finrod leaned his forehead against Curufin’s, his head tilted to the side as they waited for the sound to come again. It didn’t.

“Carnistir is in his room,” Finrod murmured. “He didn’t see me come in, but his light is – ”

Curufin jerked his head away from Finrod’s and covered his mouth with a hand, his eyes glittering. “I don’t want to hear about him.”

Finrod tried to say something, his lips moving against Curufin’s palm, and Curufin hooked his fingers in Finrod’s shirt, pulling him closer, still not taking his other hand from Finrod’s mouth. “Do not,” he said quietly, “say his name to me.”

There was something possessive and furious growing in him now, and he hung onto it with bone-deep relief; how much better was this than disappointment and fear.

Above his hand, Finrod’s eyes were fixed on him, and his pupils had dilated slightly. _The light is getting dimmer_ , Curufin told himself, _pupils dilate when in low light…or_ , his brain added, helpfully, _when aroused_. So he kept his hand in place as Finrod ran his hands up Curufin’s sides, sliding under his shirt, and Curufin bit his own lip at the sensation. He pulled his hand away from Finrod’s mouth, and Finrod seemed to know better than to say anything, kissing him again as Curufin closed his eyes and tried to let everything else fall away to the background.

Distracted.

 

 


	44. Knights of shame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have I used ‘shit hits the fan’ as a chapter descriptor yet? Probably. Is that every chapter? Is that every plot arc? Still. Shit hits the fan herein.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Warnings for physical intimacy (but not sex; nothing below the waist) in the first scene, and discussion of sexual…reluctance? Okay, it’s grey-ace Curvo things, you know the drill. Then warnings for certain people being Not At All Nice, and some tough love that is distinctly lacking in the ‘love’ part.  
> 1\. This is a slightly more close-focus chapter, plotwise. We will touch base with the rest of our gang soon, I promise.

“Why are you stopping?”

“I think we should slow down.”

“ _Why_?”

“Because it’s getting late,” said Finrod lamely. He didn’t say, _because you still flinch when I touch you in certain places, and then you move my hand back when I pull it away. Because you kiss me with teeth bared like a dare and your hands shake when they move below my waist. And when I stop you, you snarl at me, but I can tell you’re relieved. Because I honestly think you’re happiest when we sit together and talk, or when our hands touch, or when I kiss you gently, with closed lips and my hands in your hair, but still you insist on more and even though I want it – I want you – it feels_ wrong. _Because I still don’t trust that there isn’t more to this than you’ll admit. Because there is something going on here that has nothing to do with me, and it worries me, sometimes, how wild you look._

“So?”

_So I feel like you’re playing chicken with your own boundaries, and I’m the train barreling down on you._

“Well, I shouldn’t spend the night here, probably,” Finrod said, his hand still on Curufin’s waist, Curufin staring up at him with a stubborn jut to his chin. Finrod’s stomach swooped as he spoke, as the idea of doing something as intimate as spending the night with Curufin – sleeping in the same bed, waking up together – did odd things to his heart. _But you can’t, you can’t spend the night with him. For so many reasons…And he wouldn’t want it, anyway._ He added gently, “We don’t need to rush anything, you know that, don’t you?”

He braced himself for the usual angry response, for Curufin’s defensive retorts that overlaid a clear relief to pull free. But instead Curufin rolled over on his back and lay still, and said, “Fine.”

Finrod propped himself up on one elbow and touched Curufin’s cheek lightly. He wanted to say so much more, but Curufin’s eyes were shuttered in the dark room, and even in such an intimate setting he felt inapproachable. Another wall thrown up to hide his disappointment, or his relief, it was hard for Finrod to tell.

 _You don’t always want more, but you don’t like perceived rejection either._ This, at least, Finrod could remedy. He bent down and very softly pressed his lips to Curufin’s, letting actions say what words could not. _I am still here, I still want you, but this is enough_.

Curufin let out a sigh, his lips parting, and Finrod felt something that had been stretched too thin within him loosen as Curufin’s arms went around his neck. They kissed, slow and quiet, bodies barely touching, and there was a flicker of a moment in which Finrod could feel both of their contentment.

“I need to go,” he whispered, finally, and Curufin’s arms tightened briefly around his neck before releasing him.

“Yes, probably,” Curufin said, his breath coming a little fast. “It is late, after all.”

 

-

 

Celegorm was yawning, coming out of the bathroom, when he walked almost directly into Finrod. Finrod had his hand on the doorknob to Curufin’s room and was pulling it quietly shut behind him, pausing for a moment to lean his head against the wood, eyes closed. His hair was mussed and there was color in his cheeks, and he jumped, shocked out of his stillness, when he brushed against Celegorm.

Celegorm blinked blearily at him, still half asleep. “Whozat. Ingo? What’re you doin’?”

“I was talking to Curvo,” said Finrod quickly. “I had a…question. We were just talking.”

Celegorm shook his head, trying to get his bearings. “Wait. You were in Curvo’s room? In the middle of the night?” But as suspicion began to dawn, Finrod slipped past him, quick as a cat, and was down the stairs and out of sight before Celegorm could stop him. A dark certainty twisting in his gut, Celegorm reached for the door and pushed it open.

Curufin was in bed. He looked up, then angled himself quickly away as the dim light from the hall fell across him, but not quickly enough. Celegorm saw at once that his cheeks were flushed, his hair as tousled as Finrod’s, and in the moment before Curufin pulled a shirt over his bare chest, Celegorm could see a faint mark on the thin skin of his throat.

Celegorm froze, eyes widening. “Curvo?”

“What are you doing? Get out.”

Celegorm made a jerky motion, pointing to the stairs. “You – You and him – ”

“We were talking,” snapped Curufin, a breathless note to his voice beneath the sharpness. “Go to sleep, Turko.”

“You – What did he – Did you – ” Celegorm’s fingers tightened on the doorknob as he tried to pull himself together. “Were you – No, I can’t believe it, are you _serious_?”

“Fuck off,” Curufin snarled, his cheeks burning brighter still. “Get out of my room, get out of my face, go _away_.”

“ _Why_ – ”

“Now!” shouted Curufin, his control snapping like a frayed thread, and Celegorm was too stupefied to do anything but pull the door closed and stand in the hall, no idea what to do next.

 

-

 

The sound of voices had woken Maglor, but he was fairly used to random nocturnal outbursts; they were a more or less nightly occurrence growing up and had not lessened all that perceptibly with time. He rolled over and closed his eyes, but the continued pacing of feet in the hallway kept him from dropping back to sleep. Groaning, he slid his legs out of bed and padded to the door to stick his head out.

“Who is that? Will you shut up, I’m trying to sleep… Tyelko?”

Celegorm was turning small feverish circles in the hall, looking totally beside himself. Apparently unable to stop his frantic pacing, he didn’t answer Maglor’s query, and so Maglor reached out for him. Tugging his brother by the arm, he pulled him into his room and shoved him down on the end of the bed.

“Okay, you’ve gone crazy. What’s up _now_? Is it something to do with Oromë? With dad?”

“NO!”

Maglor raised an eyebrow, interested despite his sleepiness. “What then?”

Celegorm gestured violently. “Findaráto!”

Maglor sighed. “Yes, I think he’s downstairs in Moryo’s room. Did you hear them again? I’ve been sleeping with earplugs lately, though I think I misplaced my…”

“He’s downstairs in Moryo’s room _now_. But before that he was up _here_. With Curvo!”

Maglor massaged his temples, frowning, not comprehending. “What do you mean?”

“He’s been fooling around with Curvo. Tonight for _sure_ , and probably it’s not the first time, goddamn Curvo, I should have known he wasn’t telling me the whole story…”

Maglor held up a hand. “Wait. Findaráto and _Curvo_? No. No, he’s been sleeping with Moryo, that’s why he and Amarië broke up.”

Celegorm almost snarled his impatience. “Keep up, Káno. He’s screwing around with both of them.”

“He’s _sleeping with Moryo_.” Maglor said it as if repeating this fact would make everything else fall into place.

“And he’s coming out of Curvo’s room at 2am half-dressed!”

Maglor’s face went blank, and Celegorm threw his hands in the air again and started roaming the room like a caged animal.

“God only knows what he’s thinking he’s going to get out of Curvo…Curvo’s a kid, he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing, he doesn’t have a clue about this stuff. I didn’t think he even _wanted_ this kind of stuff – If Finrod’s pressuring him I swear I will rip off his balls and make him eat them. If he thinks for a second he can get away with doing this to my little brother…”

“Shut up,” said Maglor expressionlessly.

“What?”

“Stop,” Maglor shook his head, trying to order his thoughts, “talking. Stop talking, stop moving, let me think.”

Celegorm dropped down on the floor and buried his head in his hands. “Why does everything have to happen all at once?” He looked up finally, since Maglor was still silent. He blinked at the savage look on Maglor’s face. “Káno?”

“We assume Moryo has no idea, right?”

“Yeah, probably…”

“Quite apart from the fact that Curvo is being a conniving little weasel right now – ”

“He’s a kid,” protested Celegorm. “He probably has no idea what – ”

“Oh, grow up. Curvo knows exactly what he’s doing, _always_. You’ve always been soft about him. I’m not thrilled that Finrod’s apparently his first experiment with _anything_ , but you seem to be forgetting our _other_ little brother!”

“What?”

“ _Moryo_.” Maglor’s face was positively thunderous. “After the shit he’s been through, the last thing he needs is our damn cousin making a fool of him. How dare he?” He let out a snarl and kicked over a music stand.

Celegorm actually drew back, looking rather impressed. It was rare that Maglor lost his temper like this, but the last time he did, he had punched Celegorm in the face after a prank had gone too far and pushed Maglor past the breaking point. It had been ten years ago now, but it had left a distinct impression on Celegorm. _Makalaurë is_ scary _when he’s pissed._

“I don’t know what Curvo thinks is going on, but Finrod does not get to do this,” said Maglor tersely. “He does not get away with shit like this, he does not get to play our brothers like that.”

“Let me talk to Curvo, I can find out what’s actually going on. Maybe he has some kind of explanation, maybe – ”

“Do what you want, and good fucking luck, but leave Finrod to me.”

 

 

-

 

Celegorm got up relatively early, for him, and was vaulting out of bed, into clothes (a nod to Curufin’s delicate sensibilities), and across the hall to Curufin’s room before Huan had even had time to properly celebrate him being out of bed in his normal fashion.

Celegorm pushed open the door, not bothering to knock, like usual. Curufin was awake, dressed, and already at his desk, all three of his monitors pulled up, tapping away ferociously at his keyboard. There was a mug of black coffee at his elbow, and an equally black expression on his face.

Celegorm ignored it. “All right, Curvo, we need to fuckin’ talk.”

“No.”

“Uh, not an option dude. I need to talk to you about last night, I have a fuckton of questions and I want _answers_ – ”

Curufin turned a murderous face to him, and Celegorm took an involuntary step back.

“I have work to do,” said Curufin in a deadly soft voice, and Celegorm remembered suddenly why he never usually bothered Curufin in the morning. “Work that is far more my priority than your idiotic _questions_.”

“I don’t care, this is important.”

“Turkafinwë,” said Curufin, still in that brutally soft voice. “If you don’t leave now, I will electrocute you.”

Celegorm’s eyes were drawn unwillingly to the spark gap, but he refused to back down. “You’ve got an hour, okay? Then I’m coming back, and we’re talking about this.”

Curufin’s eyes blazed.

“Two hours,” amended Celegorm. “You’re going to need a coffee refill anyway – I’ll bring one.”

“Fine.” Curufin turned back to his computer, already tuning Celegorm out. “Two hours.”

 

-

 

Exactly two hours later, Celegorm reappeared in Curufin’s doorway with a full coffee pot that he set deliberately on Curufin’s desk. Then he stepped back and waited. Curufin flicked a glance at the coffee pot. “Decent table service for someone with no training or natural graces.”

"Cheers." Celegorm spun Curufin’s desk chair to face him and was rewarded with a scathing glare that he ignored. “What the _fuck_ did I see last night, Curvo?”

“You said you had questions. By all means, be more specific and less rhetorical.”

Celegorm tightened his fingers on the chair, then released it and started to pace, never able to stay still when he was truly agitated. “You said you didn’t want anything more to do with him. You said you weren’t interested, it was a mistake, that that one kiss was all that happened…Did he pressure you? Did he try to make you do anything you didn’t want to? I swear to god, Curvo, if he did, I will kill him, I will kill him with my bare hands – ”

“Shut up,” snapped Curufin. “He did nothing of the sort.”

“Then _why_ – You _told_ me – ”

“I lied to you, you buffoon,” said Curufin, not bothering to look at Celegorm as he stopped dead. “Obviously.”

If he’d been hoping this would shut Celegorm down, he was out of luck. Celegorm just moved closer, real anxiety in his face. “Curvo,” he said, dropping to the ground beside Curufin’s chair and putting his hand on Curufin’s knee. Curufin shifted away and Celegorm didn’t try to follow. “Are you okay? With everything that’s going on? You told me you didn’t want to sleep with him, with anyone, and I’m worried…”

“I’m not sleeping with him, or with anyone,” said Curufin cuttingly. “Stop looking like someone just shot your dog.”

“You two are clearly doing more than arguing about philosophy and kissing a bit,” Celegorm persisted. “Do you want to talk to me about any of that? Are you okay with what's been going on? If you need to, we can talk about what…” his attempt to sound calm and modulated frayed a bit and his voice sharpened, “…what he’s doing to you, that _rat_ – no, sorry, I’m sorry, Curvo, look at me, I won’t call him names, I promise, I just want you to know you can talk to me….”

“I have nothing to say to you about any of it.” Curufin had crossed his arms and legs and was examining the nails on one hand. “I’m fine.”

Celegorm seemed to be struggling with self-control again as he got to his feet and ran his hand through his hair.

“So what, you actually like him? What do you think this is? A relationship? An affair? Some hookup buddy thing?”

“I think it’s none of your business.”

“What about Moryo? What about your _brother_? For fuck’s sake, Curvo – ” Celegorm’s voice was getting loud again.

“It’s none of his business either. And you will not,” Curufin’s eyes fixed on Celegorm piercingly. “Tell him.”

“No,” Celegorm snapped back, anger starting to overtake concern. “That’s not part of the deal anymore. This is _bullshit_ , Curvo, and he has a right to know.”

“You are not going to say anything to him.”

“Oh yeah? Watch me.”

This time Curufin did look at him, fixing his full attention on his brother. He grabbed Celegorm’s wrist with surprising strength and yanked him close. “You _owe_ me, Turko,” he hissed.

“How do you figure?”

Curufin laughed mirthlessly. “Oh, let’s take a tally, shall we? I helped keep secret your illicit relationship, for _months_ after I first learned of it. I actively assisted you in deceiving our father on said relationship. I supported you, unfailingly, despite my intense reservations and doubts.”

“After you first tried to fucking split us up!”

“And now,” Curufin went on, ignoring him, “I have sacrificed my relationship with my father for your sake.”

“ _What_?”

“I told him that if he pursued his vendetta against Oromë, he could figure on excising me from his life. If he loses you, he loses me.”

Celegorm was staring at him, horrorstruck. “You…you didn’t.”

“I did. We haven’t spoken since I called him to tell him so.”

“I never asked you to do that!” Celegorm cried. “I never wanted – Curvo, you didn’t have to…”

“But I did.” Curufin’s eyes were cold as metal. “I did that, all that, for you. You owe me.”

Celegorm looked like he was gathering what reserves he had to respond, but Curufin just laughed at him.

“You really think you can win this one? You really think you can argue that you don’t owe me, at the _very_ least, your silence? Come on, Turko, surely that is the least reparation I deserve…After all I’ve done for you, you won’t grant me the respect of your silence? Haven’t you done enough damage?” He turned his head slightly so the light fell on the scar across his cheekbone and the still mottled skin. He ran his fingernails over the cut and it reddened, blood welling to the surface.

Celegorm looked like he’d been punched. “Curvo,” he croaked, reaching out a beseeching hand to his brother. “No, I never…I never meant…You _know_ I didn’t mean…I’m sorry, I’m _sorry_ , please don’t…”

Curufin was merciless, staring him down. “ _You owe me._ ”

And Celegorm could find no argument against him.

 

-

 

Maglor found Celegorm in his room, curled into Huan’s dog bed, Huan’s head on his knee. Celegorm tended to fit himself into small spaces and curl up tight when he was truly upset, and for all his bulk, he looked small as he crooked an arm around Huan's neck and stroked the dog's ears.

Maglor came to a halt in front of him. “Well? Did you talk to him?”

“Yes,” said Celegorm dully.

“And?”

“And nothing. He won't say a thing, I should have known he wasn't...Anyway. I can’t do anything about it. He made me promise not to tell Moryo. I owe him. He’s done too much for me.” His eyes were bleak and his voice very quiet.

Maglor was unaffected. “That doesn’t matter,” he said, and Celegorm looked up at the briskness of his tone. “I assumed as much; Curvo doesn’t let anything by him without at least four contingency plans, but he hasn’t taken me into account. I didn’t make him any promises,  _I_ don’t owe him any secrets or silence, and _neither_ of us promised not to go after our cousin. So you can sit here and be emotionally blackmailed by our little brother, but I’m going to talk to Finrod. Right now.”

 

* * *

 

 

The recitation Finrod led ended at three o’clock that afternoon, and he let his students file out ahead of him, exchanging faint smiles with those who nodded at him.

“Have a good weekend, dude.”

“Hey, Felagund, did Professor O. say when he’d have our papers back?”

“Monday at the earliest,” said Finrod, gathering up his notes. “And remember, if anyone wants to check in ahead of next week’s midterm, I have extended office hours Tuesday through Thursday.” As he left the philosophy building, tipping his head back to let the sun warm his face, he caught sight of a figure under a nearby tree get stir from the bench and make to intersect his path. As the figure drew closer, Finrod could see that it was Maglor, and that there was no cheerful greeting in his face but grim indictment.

Finrod didn’t allow himself the momentary luxury of pretending ignorance. There was no doubt in his mind as to why Maglor was there.

“I expected Tyelkormo to be the one waiting for me, somehow,” said Finrod, his voice light but wary as they came to a halt in front of each other.

“Tyelko’s got enough to worry about,” said Maglor. “I told him I could handle this one.”

Finrod straightened his back, weariness flooding him. “Very well then. Say what you need to say.”

“I’ll be quick.” It was by far the stoniest Finrod had ever seen Maglor’s open, kind face. “This ends now, one way or another. The sneaking around, the lying, the playing my brothers off each other – ”

“I’m not playing anyone off anyone,” said Finrod, unable to stop himself. “I only – ”

“Shut up. This is a listening exercise for you, okay? What Curvo does is his own choice, but Moryo deserves all the facts before he decides if he wants _anything_ to do with you going forward. And if what he decides to do going forward is punching you in the face, I can’t say I’d blame him. In fact, if he doesn’t, I think he’d likely find some volunteers.”

It was almost humorous to hear such threats come from mild-mannered, gentle Maglor, but Finrod didn’t feel like laughing as he looked into Maglor’s grey eyes - very much like Curufin’s, he thought, and looked away.

“So here’s the deal, you sneaky, dishonest, disingenuous creep,” Maglor leaned forward. “Moryo is going to know exactly what’s going on by tomorrow evening, one way or another. I am going to give you a whole 24 hours to be a half-way decent human being, _way_ too late in the game, I might add, and if he hasn’t heard it from you by tomorrow night, he’s going to hear it from me. Unfortunately,” Maglor’s fingers twitched and he rubbed one hand unconsciously over his arm, “I’m leaving for New York this evening, so I won’t be able to check in person. But you’d better believe I’ll be giving him a call one way or another – either to fill him in on the facts, or to check and make sure _you_ have.”

Maglor leaned back, and Finrod let out a very small breath.

“I’m not even going to get into what you think you’re doing with a 19 year old kid right now,” Maglor said, his voice holding nothing but disgust, “but on the whole, I don’t underestimate Curvo the way Tyelko does, so I’d imagine he’s had a fun little role in this whole fuckery. I would say you at least are old enough to know better than he does - if I didn’t know you had the moral compass of a flea. Congratulations, _Ingoldo_ ,” Maglor turned away as Finrod started breathing again, “you really do make admirers everywhere you go. And for the record, you should be happy Maitimo wasn’t the one to hear about this first.”


	45. I've been working on my timing

halethh@beleriand.edu: heyy

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** hey

halethh@beleriand.edu: soo

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** sooo

halethh@beleriand.edu: have you done the econ 360 problem set

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** yea

halethh@beleriand.edu: I can’t get problem 13c

halethh@beleriand.edu: D:

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** lol

halethh@beleriand.edu: seriously, what equation did you use?

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** LOL

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** oh child

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** you dumb

halethh@beleriand.edu: I’ll kill you

halethh@beleriand.edu: You know I can

halethh@beleriand.edu: HELP A BROTHER OUT THO

halethh@beleriand.edu: remember that Keynes paper you woulda failed without me?

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** I wouldn’t have /failed/

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** gotten a C maybe

halethh@beleriand.edu: I still saved your butt

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** you gave me a lot of socialist propaganda, I remember that much

halethh@beleriand.edu: point is

halethh@beleriand.edu: give me some help and don’t be a douche

halethh@beleriand.edu: dear friend

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** fine fine

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** yeah, you gotta use that equation prof showed us Friday

halethh@beleriand.edu: I DID tho

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** AND you gotta use the one from the first test

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** remember? The one we used for the ag yields problem?

halethh@beleriand.edu: ohhhhh

halethh@beleriand.edu: OHHHH

halethh@beleriand.edu: ok, yeah

halethh@beleriand.edu: thanks!

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** :)

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** (you still dumb)

halethh@beleriand.edu: you’re the one who’s dump :P

halethh@beleriand.edu: *dumg

halethh@beleriand.edu: DAMNT

halethh@beleriand.edu: *DUMB

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** hahahahaha are you high?

halethh@beleriand.edu: yeah, right, I am blazed on this econ problem set

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** heh

halethh@beleriand.edu: ok, I can get that problem now

halethh@beleriand.edu: what are you up to?

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** writing that fucking essay for my phil class

halethh@beleriand.edu: lol why are you even in phil??

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** it seemed like a good idea at the time…

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** but now I hafta write this paper and idk idk idk

halethh@beleriand.edu: mm

halethh@beleriand.edu: is that mithrandir’s class?

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** prof o? yeah but he’s teaching like a million classes this semester

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** ingo says he’s totally overcommitted and letting his TAs do most of the work

halethh@beleriand.edu: ingo says that, EH

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** oh shut up

halethh@beleriand.edu: ;)))))

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** ugh stop

halethh@beleriand.edu: your boyfriendddd

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** seriously haleth he’s not

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** we’re not dating

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** I’M NOT GAY

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** and he’s been weird af lately

halethh@beleriand.edu: huh

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** yeah idk

halethh@beleriand.edu: …so if I wanted to introduce you to a friend of mine…

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** a GIRL friend?

halethh@beleriand.edu: yep

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** a non lesbian girl friend?

halethh@beleriand.edu: no I wanna hook you up with a lesbian that sounds like a good idea

halethh@beleriand.edu: naw she is straight afaik

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** I mean

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** yeah

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** is she cute?

halethh@beleriand.edu: yep you shallow lil biscuit

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** hmmm maybe

halethh@beleriand.edu: are you suuuure your boyfriend wouldn’t get jealous?

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** he’s not my fucking boyfriend holy fuck

halethh@beleriand.edu: maybe he wants to be

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** maybe he just wants to get fucked

halethh@beleriand.edu: maybe he wants more

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** ughhhhhhhh

halethh@beleriand.edu: MORYO NO LIKE FEELINGS FEELINGS ARE FOR HUMANS BLEEP BLORP

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** stfu

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** i swear to god

halethh@beleriand.edu: sorry

halethh@beleriand.edu: couldn’t resist

halethh@beleriand.edu: anyway if mithrandir is your teacher just quote some martineau he eats that shit up

halethh@beleriand.edu: he and my econ prof argue about her malthusian whatevers all the time

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** think that’s gonna fit into my phil paper?

halethh@beleriand.edu: try it and see

halethh@beleriand.edu: you could always let ‘ingo’ read it over before you submit ;)

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** damnit wench

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** wait hold up

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** someone at the door

 **caranthirf@beleriand.edu:** uhhh holy shit it’s him gtg

halethh@beleriand.edu: it’s finrod???

halethh@beleriand.edu: seriously????

halethh@beleriand.edu: speak of the devil, huh?

halethh@beleriand.edu: augh no don’t go skype me in I wanna watch

halethh@beleriand.edu: hahaha jk

halethh@beleriand.edu: gross

halethh@beleriand.edu: don’t need to see you do the do

halethh@beleriand.edu: but seriously tell me what happens

halethh@beleriand.edu: Moryo

halethh@beleriand.edu: Moryo

halethh@beleriand.edu: …you’ve minimized the chat window haven’t you

halethh@beleriand.edu: sighhhhhh

 

* * *

 

As Ríanellë turned onto the side street heading towards the highway, she fumbled one handed in the center console, trying to flick through CDs without taking her eyes from the road.

“I know it’s archaic, but amazingly, ’02 Foresters don’t have iPod hookups,” she said, holding a CD in front of the steering wheel so she could glance at the label. “So we’re going to have to rely on my CD collection rather than hooking up one of our phones. At least we _have_ a disc drive, Ecthelion’s old car only had a cassette player…Oh, damn.” She dropped the CD, which fell down in front of the odometer, and returned both hands to the steering wheel so she could merge onto the highway. “Okay, this is where a copilot comes in handy. Can you DJ for us?”

“What?”

“Pick some tunes!” Ríanellë craned her head over her shoulder and accelerated as she pulled into the lane. “I would, but we might end up pancaked by a semi if I don’t keep my eyes on the road, more or less.”

“Sorry,” said Maglor shaking his head. “Say that first part again?”

Ríanellë glanced at him. “Not paying attention, huh?”

“I…No. I had to send a text.” Maglor tried to pull his attention back with some effort. “What did you want me to do?”

“Pick something for us to listen to.”

Maglor frowned as he picked up the stack of CDs. “Would you mind if I just hooked up my phone instead? Wait, where’s the cable?”

Ríanellë sighed. “Just shove in that Blitzen Trapper CD and don’t worry about it.”

Maglor obeyed, then sank back in his seat, eyes fixed on the road stretching out ahead of them. His face settled once more into dark preoccupation, and there was silence between them through the first five songs of the album. Finally Ríanellë reached over and poked him lightly. “Hey.”

Maglor started up. “What?”

“You seem a bit out of it. Not that I’m ungrateful, but I thought one of the benefits of carpooling was the company and conversation. Are you hung-over? Sleep-deprived? Not interested in talking?” She smiled slightly. “I haven’t noticed the latter being a trait of yours usually, but I suppose I don’t know – ”

“Sorry.” Maglor rubbed his hands over his face and tried to bring himself back to the car, and Ríanellë’s presence next to him, rather than where it had been, where he more than half wished he was: back home, waiting for Caranthir. He hadn’t gotten particularly good sleep the night before, either, he realized, as he rubbed his eyes again and stifled a yawn. “I’m a little preoccupied, I guess.”

“Anything you want to share with the rest of the class?” asked Ríanellë cheerfully.

“Family stuff.” Maglor’s brows drew closer together. “And _step_ -family stuff.”

Ríanellë waited, but Maglor didn’t seem like he was going to elaborate. “Alrighty.” She hummed and tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, and Maglor glanced over at her. Her sleeves were pushed up, and the tattoo on her inner forearm was just visible. He found himself trying to read it sideways, and she caught him looking. Her lips twitched. “I’ll tell you about mine if you tell me about yours. What does it say, anyway?”

Maglor’s hand flew unconsciously to his bicep. “Oh. It…” He reddened a little.

“Shy? Man, I could have read it when you were shirtless for like seven hours with me, but _now_ you come over all modest?”

Maglor pulled himself up straight and tried to look like he didn’t know or care that his ears had gone red at the reminder of their night together. “It’s a verse. Of poetry, I guess, or maybe a song.”

“Maybe?” Ríanellë cocked her head. “Don’t you know? Where did you find it?”

“In my head.” Maglor touched his own arm once more and then lowered his hand. “It’s the longest poem – or song, I suppose – I’ve ever written. I started it when I was about ten, and just kept writing. Verses, lyrics, or something…”

“About what?”

“Everything. My life, my family’s life, my family’s family’s lives…History, stories I heard somewhere…Sometimes I think it’s how I keep a journal. I mean, I do keep a journal, a real one, but I always forget to write in it except when I’m pissed. But I keep adding to the Nol – to this piece, every time something important or interesting happens.”

“Have you written music for it?” Ríanellë sounded interested.

“Yes. Well, I’ve tried…It keeps changing, you know? And I keep getting better, so I feel like I should start over every time I get a new piece of knowledge or ability, so the actual composition part keeps backtracking. But I still add to the lyrics even though the music isn’t resolved yet.”

“That’s a long piece to tattoo on your arm, if you’ve been writing it for 16 odd years. How small is the font?”

“It’s just the first verse,” said Maglor softly. “To remind me of where I started. The music changes, but I try to keep the lyrics as they were at the time I wrote them, so they perfectly preserve and encapsulate that moment…these first six lines are the oldest ones. They were my beginning.” His voice trailed away. He felt suddenly embarrassed. It wasn’t that he didn’t tell anyone about his project; he was used to people, girls mostly, asking about his tattoo, and he had perfected its telling. But with Ríanellë, he felt oddly exposed, and somehow more honest than he usually was when explaining the ink on his skin. “Anyway. They remind me where I came from.” It sounded horribly cheesy, to his ears, and he scooted down in his seat, eyes flickering out the window once more.

But Ríanellë made a humming noise of understanding and nodded. “Gotcha. Mine’s kinda the same, actually.”

“Really?” Maglor sat up straight again and looked over at her with new interest.

“Yup. Mine’s the first song I ever wrote.”

Maglor tilted his head, squinted, and read the words printed on her wrist.

> _Like a hamster! (but with wings)/He soared through the Skies_
> 
> _Fuzzy, and those kinda things/With a Snout full of Lies_
> 
> _OH PIG OF LIES/why Do you Do…_

Maglor dragged his eyes away mid-verse and raised them to Ríanellë, struggling to say something kind.

“Um…”

Ríanellë was grinning. “Yeah, I know. Did I mention I was six when I wrote it?”

“And _why_ – ”

“To remind me where I came from,” Ríanellë echoed. “I thought I was a fuckin’ prodigy at that age, I thought I was a lyric genius, the next Mozart. And I wrote a song about a flying _pig_ whose snout grows when he lies – TOTAL Pinocchio rip-off, though I would have denied it at the time.”

“So you tattooed it on your arm…”

“To keep my ego in check. Every time I start to think I’m hot shit, I look down and am reminded of what I thought was genius once upon a time. And it keeps me humble, to think that one day I might look back at whatever angsty song I’m writing about pretty dark-haired boys and cigarettes,” Maglor shot a quick look at her face and then dropped his eyes resolutely to her wrist again as if he were studying the next lines, “may someday look about as brilliant as Ye Olde Flying, Lying Porker.” She shrugged and flicked her wrist so that her bracelet slid up and partially obscured her tattoo. “Same theory as yours, different practice.”

“Interesting approach.”

“I thought so.”

Maglor tried to think back to the first piece of music he’d ever written. Had he been six? Younger, surely. “I’ve burned most of my early music; it’s so embarrassing now, and seems so _weak_ …”

“Yeah, I get that temptation, but honestly, I like being able to track my own evolution – even though burning certain things would feel really, really good.”

“It _does_. Though I’d be lying if I said I never regretted it. Sometimes I wish I hadn’t destroyed some of the things I wrote for ex-girlfriends and so on. Now that I’m not emotionally compromised by them, it would be nice to actually have some of that work – some of it wasn’t half bad, it’s just the subject matter that I was being melodramatic over at the time.”

“But it’s hard to totally destroy music you’ve written, isn’t it? I have songs I really never want to look at again, but the damn things still get stuck in my head even when I’m determined to forget them.”

“Oh god, so true.”

“Right? Dang, change the subject, quick, I can feel one of sixteen-year-old me’s Amy Lee rip-offs welling up as we speak.”

“Oops,” said Maglor and thought. “How far back do you remember songs you wrote?”

“Pretty far.”

“Then the only thing to do now is to share the _tune_ to Ye Olde Flying, Lying Porker with me. So we can sing it all the way to New York.”

“Oh, shit, that’s diabolical. God save us all.”

“Is that a no?”

“No.” Ríanellë cleared her throat in a businesslike manner and switched the stereo off. “Okay, it starts in G and the refrain has a lot of oinking, I hope you’re comfortable with that.”

“Bring it on.”

 

* * *

 

Fëanor’s study was growing dim as the light faded, the sun dropping behind the hills visible through his west-facing window. He didn’t turn on his light, though, sitting very still at his desk, lost in thought. In another hour, it was going to be only the second time in five years that he and Curufin hadn’t spoken, on the phone or in person, between 5 and 8pm on Friday evening.

The first time had been the week prior.

It had originally become tradition almost by accident; when Curufin, most of his brothers either off at school or otherwise preoccupied on Friday nights, would wander into Fëanor’s study and sit in the corner, curled up with a book, until Fëanor finished his own work and turned to ask him about his latest project or schoolwork. Soon it became a weekly tradition: Friday nights were when they exchanged ideas, troubleshot issues that had sprung up in their respective undertakings, or debated the readings that Fëanor would recommend, leaving printouts and books by Curufin’s door. Soon, Curufin started leaving his own offerings in turn, articles and books he’d found through study or curiosity, and they would each read the other’s recommendations and then sit together and debate them.

When Curufin left for college, Fëanor had assumed their Friday night talks were done, but the first week Curufin was at school, Fëanor’s phone had rung at exactly 7pm Friday evening, and Curufin’s voice had been on the other end, brisk and casual, asking if Fëanor had seen the latest Lawrence Lessig piece.

“You know,” Fëanor had said once, “if you have other things to do with your Friday evenings, I won’t be offended.”

Curufin had snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he had said. “You think I’d rather be doing what your other sons do on Friday nights? Getting drunk in some frat house where my feet stick to the floor, or getting high with a bunch of people who haven’t realized that hackey sack is horribly passé, or maybe getting ticketed by BUPD for public urination?”

“That’s what my other sons do on Friday nights, eh?”

“No, definitely not. They’re upstairs with me now, reading Kant.”

“I don’t even want to know.”

“No, you don’t. And you heard none of this from me, by the way.”

The clock – which had once occupied Finwë’s desk, and now sat on Fëanor’s – chimed softly as it struck the hour. The light was truly gone now, and Fëanor closed his eyes, letting the shadows press against his eyelids, accepting, with a hollow resignation, that his phone wasn’t going to ring. There was a creak of floorboards behind him, and the sound of light footsteps. Familiar, calloused hands settled on his shoulders, smoothing down his collar.

“It’s dark in here.”

Fëanor nodded, but didn’t say anything.

One calloused hand ran light fingers through his hair, and then he felt Nerdanel’s arms settle around his chest as she leaned forward, resting her cheek against his.

“You could always call him, you know,” she said quietly, after a long pause.

Fëanor opened his eyes. “He’s made his choice very clear. I’m not going to harass him.”

Nerdanel sighed. “This is one of those instances where it’s _okay_ to harass your son, Fëanaro.”

“He wouldn’t pick up, Nerdanel. Don’t you think I know how determined he is?”

“I know he’s as stubborn as his father.” Nerdanel released Fëanor and flicked on the desk lamp before perching herself on the edge of the desk. “This isn’t working, sweetheart. Freezing each other out is not an effective conflict resolution strategy, or particularly effective parenting, for that matter.”

“You would rather I practice détente by compromising my beliefs in what’s right?”

“This isn’t the Cold War, this is family. And I’m saying that maybe nothing should be off the table when it comes to two of our sons cutting themselves out of our lives.”

Fëanor shifted in his seat. “Not ‘our’ lives, just ‘my’ life. Neither Turkafinwë nor Curufinwë has said anything about not speaking to _you_.”

“And yet neither _have_ spoken to me.”

Fëanor played with the tail of the men’s shirt Nerdanel wore half tucked into her work jeans. “Turkafinwë drove the twins home the other day.”

“I know.”

“Did you see him?”

“He dropped them at the end of the driveway so I didn’t actually see him or get a chance to say anything. The twins know what’s going on, by the way.”

Fëanor rested an elbow on the desk and sank his head into one hand. “I thought we were hoping to keep them out of this?”

“They worship their older brothers, you know they do – and Tyelko in particular. Of course they know what’s going on, they always know more than we want them to. They seem fairly unfazed, but I don’t imagine they grasp the full implications.”

“Wonderful,” Fëanor muttered. “Now we have two fifteen year old boys who have always yearned to imitate their older brother thinking he’s still some sort of hero…Check and see who their climbing instructor at the gym is, Nerdanel, lest we learn one of them is involved in some clandestine relationship with – ”

“That’s not funny,” said Nerdanel sharply. “And their instructor at the gym is your younger sister, Fëanaro, so bite your tongue.”

Fëanor winced. “My apologies.” He put a hand on Nerdanel’s leg. “I am not trying to make light of this, love, I only – ”

“I know.” Nerdanel laid her hand over his. “But we need to talk about next steps, because I don’t see anything that we’re doing currently working. I refuse to accept that we are simply losing our sons…”

“We aren’t.” Fëanor was vehement. “This will blow over, I swear it will. Turko will cool off, he always does, and Curvo will realize he is neither behaving rationally nor maturely, and – ”

“How long do you see this taking?” demanded Nerdanel. “A month? A year? Their 30th birthdays? Whether we like it or not, Tyelko is in love and unlikely to shift his thinking and ‘cool off’ anytime soon, not when you are working on bringing a suit against his lover – ”

“ _Don’t_ call him that!” Fëanor’s voice rose. “That man – ”

“Oromë.”

“ _Nerdanel._ ”

“You’re being as childish as Curvo. Do you think if we don’t say his name he’ll evaporate? I think it’s time to reevaluate.”

Fëanor stared at her, disbelieving. “Are you joking? You think we should accept this appalling situation, this sick dynamic at play…”

“I’m not saying we should accept it, or like it, or want it to be so, but the fact remains that it _is_ , and I don’t see that changing anytime soon. And if we want to continue a relationship with our sons, something is going to have to give.” Nerdanel took a deep breath. “The university is going to conduct its investigation regardless of you – he came forward to admit to it all before you could even file a formal complaint. Perhaps…perhaps the lawsuit is overkill.”

Fëanor opened his mouth, furious.

“Listen to me, Fëanaro,” Nerdanel said urgently. “Aldaron is almost certainly going to lose his job and be censured for what he has done – as he should be. But if we hope to mend our relationship with Tyelko, I don’t see how we’re going to do that if, in addition, we personally drag his lover through a vicious court battle and thousands in legal fees and everything else. I don’t like it any more than you do, but at least if we leave it at the University’s consequences, then…”

“Then it will seem like we have done nothing at all,” said Fëanor savagely.

Nerdanel threw up her hands, despairing. “We need to talk to our boys! We need to fix this! And we’re not going to get Curvo back without Tyelko!”

“I’m not going to be held hostage by the threats of an eighteen year old boy with a misguided sense of loyalty!”

“He’s your _son_! They both are!”

“Are you saying I shouldn’t do what’s right? Are you saying I should cave because my sons are throwing tantrums?”

“We need to _talk_ to them, and we need to reevaluate our approach, because it’s clearly not working. And…” Nerdanel broke off, looking preoccupied. “…There’s someone else I think it’s time for me to talk to.”

Fëanor pushed back from the desk. “Surely not. You’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, are you?”

“I think I’ve earned the right to ask some questions,” said Nerdanel staunchly. “And there’s only one person who can answer them.”

 

* * *

 

 

Caranthir hastily minimized the chat window and hit mute so that Haleth’s continuing messages wouldn’t ping insistently. He turned in his chair to face the door, which Finrod had only opened a crack to announce himself after his knock and Caranthir’s ‘Who is it?’

“Come in,” said Caranthir, and Finrod stepped in, closing the door behind him. He hesitated for a moment, and Caranthir waited, as he always did, to see if Finrod would touch him on entering. Sometimes Finrod would be taken in a moment of affection and cross the room to squeeze his hand or press a swift kiss to his lips, but Caranthir always felt awkward when this happened. There was something somehow far more intimate in greeting each other with physical affection than there was in their midnight hook-ups, or when they’d get high and be unable to keep their hands off each other.

He would never totally get used to causal, tender affection from Finrod, Caranthir thought, and he closed his laptop with an absent hand, thinking of Haleth’s implications and wanting to push them far away.

“What’s up?”

“I have something I need to tell you.” Finrod took a deep breath and sat on the bed. Then he stood again and clasped his hands behind his back.

Caranthir wrinkled his brow, wondering why Finrod looked so oddly formal. Finrod was quiet for another long minute, and Caranthir waited, his heart starting to pound. Finrod looked like he was going to make some sort of profound proclamation, his face pale but for two spots of color burning in his cheeks.

_What is it you’re so nervous to tell me?_

He realized he hadn’t seen Finrod nervous before, and that was increasing his own discomfort.

_What bomb are you working up the courage to drop on me?_

He was finding it hard to take a deep breath, as past conversations flickered unwittingly through his mind, Curufin’s voice clear and confidential.

_He was really serious about Amarië. For him to leave her he must have fallen for you hard._

Haleth, and her teasing.

_Maybe he wants more…_

Curufin, watching him with such knowing grey eyes.

_I really like you two together. And now you finally have someone, don’t you?_

Haleth, not just letting it _lie_ , damn her.

 _…Your_ boyfriend _...Won’t he mind??_

The silence had gone on for far too long.

 _Oh Christ,_ Caranthir thought, desperately. _Oh, Christ, Findaráto, what are you going to tell me?_

“What is it? Spit it out.”

Finrod pulled his hands around in front of him and wove his fingers together, so tightly it looked like he was trying to snap his own fingers in half.

“Carnistir…”

“Yes?”

Finrod swallowed. “I’ve been seeing someone else.”

Caranthir blinked. “What?”

Finrod closed his eyes. “I’ve been…seeing someone else. I’ve been with someone else besides you, these past couple…weeks.”

Caranthir opened his mouth, then closed it again. Then he let out a laugh, and dropped back in his chair. “Oh, thank _fuck_.”


	46. Got no time for a mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emotions run high, and Fingon is once again forced to be the responsible one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Warning: This is a fairly emotionally fraught chapter, and deals with a lot of upset, sibling rivalry, discussion of cheating/fallout, and existential angst. It is also a long chapter, because I wanted to really deal with this series of interactions thoroughly – and at least manage to get to the next day – and being thorough ended up taking about 1500 more words than I anticipated.  
> 1\. Now, let's jump in right where we left off.

“What?” Finrod was staring at him, eyes wide with surprise – and something else, half like deep relief, and half like he was trying to keep from being offended.

“You’re seeing someone else.” Caranthir felt like laughing again. “That’s it? Seriously? You’re seeing someone else.”

“I…Yes.”

“Christ. I thought you were coming in to tell me you were in love with me or something.” Caranthir shook his head. “Dude, thank god.”

“You…you don’t mind?”

Caranthir shrugged. “We were just fucking, weren’t we? Distraction, like you said. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I really _like_ fucking you, and you’re a good person to hang out with and all that, but I didn’t want to date you. Or any guy, really.”

Finrod still looked thunderstruck, and like he was still fighting the instinct to be slightly hurt. “I guess I’m glad to hear that, then. Do you have any…questions for me?”

“Uh, I don’t think so. I don’t need to hear the details.” Caranthir shuddered.

“But,” Finrod hesitated. “You should know something else.”

Caranthir winced. “Do I have to? Don’t worry about it, Ingo, but if that’s all you were coming to tell me, I gotta get back to my homework.”

Finrod still looked conflicted, his hands knotted together. “Well…”

“Well?”

Finrod seemed to be battling with some instinct – to say something, or not to – and Caranthir glanced back towards his computer. “Spit it out, man.”

Whatever determination Finrod had been struggling with seemed to fail at Caranthir’s brusque words, and as Caranthir waited, he simply closed his mouth and shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said very quietly, “I’ll see you around.” Then he turned and left, his shoulders no more relaxed than they had been when he’d entered, and his face now entirely unreadable.

Caranthir cocked his head, watching him go, then shrugged and turned back to his computer.

 

 **caranthirf@belereiand.edu:** back.

halethh@belereiand.edu: oh yeahh? That was quick.

halethh@belereiand.edu: minuteman, huh?

halethh@belereiand.edu: ;)

halethh@belereiand.edu: (sorry. I’ve been doing homework for six hours and I think I’m delirious)

 **caranthirf@belereiand.edu:** lol no worries

 **caranthirf@belereiand.edu:** it was not sex

 **caranthirf@belereiand.edu:** not even gonna touch on the minuteman remark

 **caranthirf@belereiand.edu:** guess what?

halethh@belereiand.edu: wat

 **caranthirf@belereiand.edu:** he’s seeing someone else

halethh@belereiand.edu: wait

halethh@belereiand.edu: Finrod?

halethh@belereiand.edu: he’s seeing someone other than you?

 **caranthirf@belereiand.edu:** yup

halethh@belereiand.edu: well dang

halethh@belereiand.edu: are you ok with that?

 **caranthirf@belereiand.edu:** sure

 **caranthirf@belereiand.edu:** I TOLD you he wasn’t my boyfriend!

 **caranthirf@belereiand.edu:** hah

halethh@belereiand.edu: well yeah now I guess I’d hope not

halethh@belereiand.edu: you gonna keep sleeping with him?

 **caranthirf@belereiand.edu:** idk. If he wants to

halethh@belereiand.edu: …even with the other person thing?

 **caranthirf@belereiand.edu:** didn’t bother me before

halethh@belereiand.edu: I guess not

halethh@belereiand.edu: so who is it?

 **caranthirf@belereiand.edu:** who’s who?

halethh@belereiand.edu: the person finrod’s seeing

 **caranthirf@belereiand.edu:** idk. Does it matter?

halethh@belereiand.edu: I dunno. Kinda. Aren’t you curious?

 **caranthirf@belereiand.edu:** nah.

 

-

 

Caranthir emerged from his room in relatively good sprits. The Martineau had incorporated rather well into his philosophy paper, and for the first time in the semester, he was actually ahead of schedule on his homework. He came out into the living room and stopped short, feeling a moment of odd déjà vu. Celegorm was sitting on the couch like he was waiting for him, but this time his face was tight with concern rather than his usual wicked glee.

“Can I help you?” Caranthir raised an eyebrow at his brother and Celegorm stood up, his face so serious that Caranthir looked around uneasily, wondering if Celegorm was going to break the news of a death in the family. “Is everything okay?”

“Finrod talked to you then?”

Caranthir squinted at him. “Uh…Yes?”

Celegorm let out a breath and swung his arms awkwardly, as if he was weighing reaching out to hug Caranthir. Caranthir watched him with increasing confusion. “So he told you.”

“He…Yeah, he told me. Wait, you knew about this? How?”

“I saw – It doesn’t really matter how, but yeah, I knew.”

Caranthir dodged as Celegorm yielded to the temptation to reach out and pat him on the shoulder. “What’s wrong with you, dude? Stop treating me like a chick.” He evaded his brother and went into the kitchen, his stomach growling. “Do we have any salami?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Celegorm followed, trailing behind him with a continued expression of confusion and concern. “But what did you think about it? When Finrod told you?”

“It’s all good.”

“ _What_?” Celegorm stared at him, rather like Finrod had. “You’re okay with it?”

Caranthir shrugged, opening the fridge to look for something to eat. He poked at the package of salami, trying to decide what he wanted. “He’s been acting so weird lately I thought he was angling to turn this into a relationship or something, and then I would have had to be all thoughtful and emotionally engaged and fuck, it would be a disaster. I’m kinda relieved he has someone else – if he wants to date _them_ , he can go ahead. No offense or anything, but I don’t want to date a dude.”

“ _Date –_ He’d better not _date_ – You think he’ll actually – ” Celegorm dragged a hand through his hair, agitated. “I don’t fucking understand any of this. Don’t you feel used?”

“Sure, but who cares? Like, that was kinda the arrangement, wasn’t it? I was using him to get over Haleth, he was using me to…be a dick to his girlfriend, I dunno. If he’s dating someone else, more power to ‘em, and thank fuck it’s not me.”

“Okay, I get that part, but come _on_. Your little brother?”

“What about my little brother?”

“That’s what I don’t get. How can you be so okay with Finrod fooling around on you with your little brother?”

Caranthir jerked up too fast and smacked his head on the fridge door. “Wait, what did you say?”

Celegorm looked perplexed. “Finrod. Fooling around with Curvo. His whole ‘other person’ he’s seeing being your little brother and everything, I’d think that would be pretty fucked up...”

_“What?”_

Celegorm’s eyes widened. “Oh. _Oh._ Oh, fucking shitting Jesus.” He dropped down heavily in a chair. “He left out the key detail of _who_?”

“I didn’t want to know. I didn’t care, so I didn’t ask…” Caranthir’s face went blank. “He’s been with _Curvo_?”

“Christ, I am _not_ supposed to be the person telling you this.” Celegorm looked like he’d rather be anywhere else at this moment. “Yeah, he and Curvo have been hooking up.”

Caranthir was very still for a moment, then he whipped around, slamming the refrigerator with such force that something inside fell and smashed.

“Moryo,” called Celegorm helplessly, but he didn’t try to stop him as Caranthir stormed past him, out of the kitchen and up the stairs. “Hope that didn’t count as breaking my promise to Curvo,” Celegorm muttered to himself as Caranthir disappeared. “Oh, what the fuck.” He briefly contemplated going after his brother, but then elected to stay where he was, ignoring the voice that whispered _coward_ in his head, promising himself he’d intervene if it sounded like Caranthir was doing physical damage. He swore under his breath. “Trust Finrod to be cagey as hell. And to make me do his dirty work for him, the dog.” Huan, who’d started looking anxious when Caranthir had slammed the refrigerator door, laid his head on Celegorm’s foot, and Celegorm reached down to stroke his head. “’scuse my language.”

 

-

 

Caranthir burst into Curufin’s room, only to realize, belatedly, that the bathroom door was closed and there was water running; Curufin was in the shower. He stood in the empty room for a beat, his blood roaring in his ears, something swelling vast and furious in his throat as the full implications of what Celegorm had told him swam through his mind. He crossed over to Curufin’s desk, where his brother’s cellphone was lying, its screen innocently dark. Caranthir reached down automatically and flicked it on, pausing as it prompted him for a passcode. He thought a moment – he’d always been good at remembering number strings. Now to see if Curufin had remembered to change his password after all the turmoil…

He hadn’t.

Caranthir opened the text messages first, eyes scanning for one name in particular. It didn’t take him long at all to find what he was looking for, but he paid particular attention to Curufin’s side of the conversation.

_Did anyone see you? You were quick but not subtle, go figure._

_Makalaure didn’t guess, don’t worry. And Tyelko hasn’t been around much lately…_

_Are you here?_

_Come upstairs when he’s asleep._

_If you’re done wasting your time with ‘philosophy’, you should consider a discussion with a real intellect – if you can be spared, of course._

_He’s out of town through Monday._

_Coast’s clear. Come over._

Caranthir realized his hands were shaking with anger, making the text on Curufin’s phone jitter and blur. He slammed the phone down against the desk, cracking the screen in the process.

_Come upstairs when he’s asleep._

_Come upstairs when he’s asleep._

_Come upstairs when he’s asleep._

The cracked screen wasn’t enough. He threw the phone to the ground and drove his foot against it until the screen flickered and died. Still shaking with blind rage, he raised his eyes to the desk again, where the tiny, elegant silhouette of the spark gap was outlined against the window. His fingers itched, and he curled his hands into fists. When the little instrument snapped in his hands, he could pretend the burning in his eyes and the tightness in his throat had to do with the sharp edges of the broken metal, rather then the overwhelming sense of disillusionment and humiliation.

By the time he had destroyed everything on Curufin’s desk, the water had shut off in the bathroom. Caranthir held still, his breath coming hard, fury pounding machine gun quick in his temples. Part of him wanted to be there when Curufin came back in, wanted to roar at him, make him cower, make him _afraid_ –

_You have always had everything, everything has always been so easy for you, and this, this little thing that was mine you take and make yours instead? Was it just because it was me? Because you can’t stand your untalented, ugly, unlikeable brother having even one thing you couldn’t get? Did it offend you, that someone as unworthy and pathetic as me could have something as perfect as him?_

_Was it a test, to see if you could get him? Just another project, another fucking game, to see if you could carry up an affair just up the stairs while I stayed as stupid and ignorant as ever. Was it a joke for you? How you must have been laughing at me…_

_And you feigned sympathy! You lying, evil, weaselly little shit, I will never trust you again, not that I ever should have, you slime –_

_How you must have laughed. I knew you always thought I was a joke._

His vision was so blurred and dark that it was hard for him to see the room in front of him, and he knew, suddenly, that if he saw Curufin now, he would want to break him as thoroughly as he had smashed the delicate contraptions on Curufin’s desk, shatter him as completely as the screen of his phone. He briefly flashed to the moment Curufin had fallen to the kitchen floor, blood streaming from his face, and the image filled him with a terrifying, vicious joy.

_I want you to hurt, god, I want it so badly…_

But something in him, something that was afraid of this new, terrifying impulse, the part of him that remembered the horror in Celegorm’s face, allowed him to step deliberately from the room, back into the hallway, and down the stairs, before the knob of the bathroom door turned. He was downstairs and out the front door before Curufin even stepped into the hall.

He didn’t register Celegorm calling his name, as he slammed through the door and out into the night.

_I won’t hurt you, but if I can at all manage it, I will never be in the same room as you again._

He called the number as he half ran down the street, starting to speak before the voice on the other end even got through “Hello?”

“It was Curvo. It was _Curvo._ My little brother. He and Finrod – This whole time – I need to get away, I need – Can I  c-come over? I’m going to do something stupid if I don’t, I can feel it…” He wasn’t being coherent, he knew, and his voice was rasping and stuttering through his pants for breath.

“Yes,” said Haleth at once, not bothering to ask for clarification. “The door’s open. Call when you need me to swipe you in downstairs.”

 

* * *

 

Curufin came out of the bathroom, fully dressed and using his towel to dry his hair. When he came to his door he drew up short, seeing that it was ajar. A line between his brows – he hadn’t left it open, surely – he nudged it open with a hip and stepped inside.

He took in the destruction in a single glance. His computer was still intact, but all of his electronics – the spark gap, the circuit board, the other things he’d been working on at his desk – were smashed beyond repair. He didn’t bother to look closer, but stooped to pick up the broken phone from the floor. He stared at it for a moment, and it only took him a beat or two more for everything to click into place.

_Someone told him._

 

Celegorm was waiting for him in the kitchen, arms folded, face uncharacteristically sober. Curufin looked at him, and Celegorm answered his unspoken question.

“Yeah, he heard.” Celegorm’s expression was dark enough that Curufin didn’t bother shooting the accusatory question at him – _Was it you who told?_

It didn’t matter.

“Well?” Curufin couldn’t tell if Celegorm’s question was about what Caranthir had done, or what Curufin was going to do now, or maybe a general demand for some reaction – any reaction – to what had happened.

He refused to give it.

Instead, he tightened his jaw briefly, and then let his face fall free of emotion. He smoothed his hand through his wet hair again, and his eyes flickered, just once, toward the window.

“I’m going to need a new phone,” he said coolly, and turned away.

 

* * *

 

 

“I should have known.” Caranthir was lying flat on Haleth’s bed, staring at the ceiling. “I am such a fucking idiot, why didn’t I guess? _Apologizing_ , that’s what should have tipped me off, that little cunt…”

Several hours had passed. Andreth was being very quiet, though her ears had clearly pricked up as Caranthir laid the whole thing out for Haleth, in a rush of words, breathless and shaking, occasionally pausing to drag in a huge unsteady breath as he ran out of air. He would periodically lose control and his voice would get louder, once striking the wall with his open hand, blood suffusing his cheeks in his anger. But Haleth, even though she’d let out a few heartfelt curses as the story came out, had kept her voice even and gentle, and she’d grabbed Caranthir’ hands, squeezing them tightly, and slowly, he’d seemed to calm down. He was quieter now, stretched out on the blankets, but Andreth continued to split her attention between the conversation taking place on the other side of the room and the book she was supposed to be reading.

Haleth, who was sitting cross-legged on the pillow and petting Caranthir’s hair absently, chewed her lip. “Can I ask something?”

“What?”

“Why are you so much more mad at your brother than at Finrod? He was the one who cheated on you – or,” she amended, as Caranthir looked like he was going to protest the word ‘cheated’, “ – fooled around on you with your kid brother. Shouldn’t you be pissed at him?”

Caranthir pushed himself upright. “I knew what Finrod was. We got together in the first place because he was cheating on his girlfriend, you think I thought he was some kinda upstanding dude? I dunno, I never bought that he was gonna be any more of a good guy to me than he was to Amarië. But _Curvo_ ,” his hands clenched into fists. “He fucked with me. He manipulated me. He made me think I should like and trust him – because fuck me, right, for thinking I should maybe like and trust my brothers – and all the while he was laughing about it, using me as Finrod’s fucking fluffer or whatever. He made a fool of me, just because he _could_. Look at what he’ll do for Tyelko and then look at what he does to _me_. He’s a rat who only gives a shit about himself, but he fools people into loving him – he’s my father’s favorite, he’s Tyelko’s favorite, and now he’s Finrod’s favorite too. And whose favorite am I?”

Haleth reached instinctively for Caranthir’s hand, opening her mouth to say something, but at that moment, Caranthir’s phone rang. He dragged his hand away from her and pulled the phone out of his pocket. He stared at a moment and then slid from the bed. “It’s my brother, I gotta take this.”

“Which one?”

“Makalaurë,” said Caranthir, and vanished into the hall.

 

Haleth let out a sigh and tipped sideways on the bed. “Holy shit.”

Andreth laid down her book and stopped pretending she wasn’t listening. “Interesting developments.”

“No kidding.”

Andreth thought a moment, then grabbed her phone from the end table and started typing.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m texting Amarië.”

“Wait, about this, about Moryo?”

“Yeah, about this. Don’t you think she’d be…tickled?”

“ _Tickled?_ ”

Andreth looked slightly chagrined, but it didn’t last long. “It’s just kind of karmic, isn’t it?”

Haleth glared at her. “It’d only be karmic if it was Finrod who was getting fucked over right now. Moryo didn’t do anything wrong.”

Andreth shrugged. “Depends on your definition of ‘wrong’, I guess. But whatever, I’m texting Amarië to fill her in. You don’t think she’ll find this deeply cathartic? The guy her ex cheated on her with gets cheated on in turn – with his own little brother! I’m going to tell her it could have been worse. I’m going to tell her Finrod’s clearly gone ‘round the bend and she’s lucky she got out when she did.”

“It’s not very nice to Moryo.” Haleth folded her arms and shot a glance towards the hallway, where Caranthir had been pacing while he talked, but now had leaned up against the wall and slid down to sit, his knees drawn into his chest as he listened.

Andreth glanced out at him too and dropped her voice even lower. “I’m not going to burn him or anything, but come on, Amarië’s still all hung up on Finrod. I think this’ll help her realize he’s totally bugfuck and she’s _way_ better off now. Honestly, I kind of wish I’d had something like this after my breakup, it would have been a lot easier to get over him.”

“Fine,” said Haleth, also as quietly as she could manage. “Yeah, okay, I see that. But don’t let him hear you. Be subtle, okay?” She looked out into the hallway again. Caranthir had closed his eyes, his phone pressed to his ear as he listened to his brother’s voice on the other end, and his face softer and more still than it had been all night. “Poor kid’s gone through enough.”

 

* * *

 

 

“How exactly did your laptop get fried?”

“I was over at Irissë’s,” said Turgon, scowling, as he took the laptop Fingon handed him. “And you know I’m a cat person, right? I like cats. I _gave_ her that cat. I helped keep that damn cat alive. And what does that damn Maeglin – ”

“Lómion,” Fingon corrected, running his brother a glass of water from the tap.

“ - What does _Lómion_ do? He knocks an entire French press of coffee into my computer and destroys _everything_. He might as well have killed me, honestly.” Turgon clutched his breast as if he could feel the pain now.

Fingon grinned over his shoulder at him. “I know it sucks, but you’re being a little melodramatic, kiddo. You have backups of your files, right?”

“I suppose…” Turgon looked reluctant to yield any ground. “But that’s an expensive laptop, and now I’m going without one right around midterms!”

“Yeah, I hear that. Check and see if your insurance will cover it. But in the meantime, like I told you, you can use mine.” Fingon handed Turgon the water. “All I need is the one I have at the office for work, anyway. I can use my phone or Maitimo’s computer if I need to do anything else. Keep this for as long as you want – just don’t go poking around my personal files unless you want to be scarred for life.”

“No fear,” said Turgon, shuddering. “Thanks, Finno. But seriously, this is the first time I’ve ever wanted to punt a cat from the sixth floor window of – ”

He was interrupted by a knock at the door. Fingon checked the clock, then frowned. “It’s a bit early for Maitimo to be home.”

“Postman?” Turgon suggested.

Fingon crossed to the door and pressed his eye to the peephole. “Huh, lookit that. Different cousin altogether!” He pulled the door open. “Hey, Ingo, what’s up?”

“Hello,” said Finrod, but he looked distracted and more than a little distraught. “Is Turukáno here? I went by Bëor’s but he said Turno was out doing something about his laptop…”

“I’m here.” Turgon waved from the counter. “Why? Is everything okay?”

“I’ve messed up again.” Finrod was twisting his fingers together, and he looked a little sick. “I’ve messed up _bad_ , Turno, and this time, I wanted you to hear it from me.”

“Oh, lord,” said Turgon, his face falling. “What have you done now?”

“Shh.” Fingon shot a quelling look at his brother as Finrod looked ready to slink back out the door. He put a soothing arm around Finrod’s shoulders, tugging him into the apartment. “Don’t look so freaked out, Ingo. Hey, guess what, I owe you at least one non-judgmental ear after all you helped me through in college. Just tell me, and Turukáno can sit quietly over in the corner and make outraged faces behind your back that you won’t have to see, and then once he’s over it, we can all sit and talk like adults. Or reasonable approximations thereof.”

“I don’t know,” said Finrod, as Fingon guided him to a chair, and Turgon slid off his stool. “I have a feeling you may be making outraged faces at me as well.”

“I’ll stifle the urge,” said Fingon breezily. “I will be at least as kind to you as you were to me when I told you about that whole disaster with the two brothers junior year. It can’t be as bad as that, right?”

“Oh, god,” said Finrod, and put his head in his hands.

 

-

 

Some time had passed. Finrod had talked until his voice trailed off, while Fingon listened, his face held as neutral as he could manage, though this broke more than a few times.

Finally, Fingon let out a deep breath. “ _Well_.”

Finrod still had his head in his hands. He’d told the whole story without making eye contact, addressing his lap rather than his cousin. What Fingon could see of his face was bright red with shame and embarrassment.

“You weren’t kidding, huh?”

Behind them both, Turgon had recovered enough to start to make a vehement noise of indignation. Fingon waved frantically at him, and Turgon clamped his lips shut, stood up, and walked calmly into the back room, closing the door behind him. They heard a muffled explosion from behind the door – “Are you _kidding_ me? _Again_? What in the _hell…_ ” – and Finrod cringed.

Fingon leaned back in his chair, his own face very serious. “You’ve really outdone yourself this time, haven’t you?”

“I know,” whispered Finrod. “I know. I don’t even know how I ended up here, how I ended up being this person – What’s wrong with me, Finno?”

Fingon chewed his lip. “I don’t think I can answer that one. Look, I promised I wouldn’t freak out, so I’m not going to. But you realize you’ve got a serious pattern going on here, don’t you?”

“Yes,” said Finrod, and covered his face again. “I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t know how I got here. I’ve always had everything so figured out, I always _knew_ what I wanted…but now I’m not sure of _anything_. I thought I was happy with Amarië, and look what I did to her. I wasn’t even single and with Carnistir for a week before I started falling for Curvo…”

“Falling for? Hang on, do you actually have feelings for him, or is this just another fling?”

Finrod dug his fingers into his hair. “I don’t trust myself to answer that. Nothing I thought I knew about myself is true anymore. Sometimes I just want to take off and run, I just want to leave, to throw everything away and to hell with everything I thought I was working to get – it all just seems so pointless, _why_ – ” His voice broke, and Fingon slid forward to grip his arm.

“Hey, Ingo, it’s okay to feel that way. You think we haven’t all been there? That’s like the definition of being in your twenties…”

“ _You_ didn’t fuck up like this.”

“Well, we all fuck up in our own ways. Or maybe we’re just still waiting on my Findaráto-level fuck up, huh?” Fingon tried to sound cheerful and bracing. “But it’s time to recognize what you’re doing and start to pull out of your spin – and maybe you need some help to do that.”

“I should be able to fix things on my own,” said Finrod miserably. “I’ve always been able to before…”

“No one can do everything on their own all the time, don’t be stupid. It’s not weak to get _help_ , Ingo, but it’s dumb to try and keep handling everything on your own when you’re crashing and burning like this.”

“You think I’m crashing and burning?”

“Honeybunch, I think that’s the definition of what you’re doing.”

As Fingon patted Finrod’s leg reassuringly, Turgon came back into the room, eerily composed. Finrod looked at him warily, and Turgon sat back down on his stool, blinking rather less than was natural. “I do not condone what you did,” he pronounced, like he was reciting prepared remarks. “I think you have behaved like a…” He cast around for the right word. “…like a total shmuck. I agree with Findekáno that you should probably get help - honestly, professional help. But – ” and this time he looked squarely at Finrod, his expression not as hard as it had been, “I’m still your friend, Ingo. And I’m…here for you.” He twisted his mouth around his discomfort even as Finrod stared at him with open gratitude. “I can’t promise I won’t – ”

“Whack you upside the head with a whiffle bat,” supplied Fingon, grinning slightly.

“ – or propose some sort of chastity belt – ”

“Ooh, yes. Ideally with spikes…facing _in_ – ”

Finrod gave a watery laugh and dragged a hand over his eyes.

“Yes, good call. But on the whole, I think you probably have enough to fear from the collective wrath of the Fëanorion clan, so I’m going to leave the punishment to them.”

“Fair enough,” said Finrod softly, finally meeting his best friend’s gaze. “I’m sorry I keep messing up.”

“It’s really not me you have to apologize to.”

“Yeah, you’ve neither slept with nor cheated on him,” said Fingon. “Yet. I mean, as far as I know. Say, I actually always wondered…”

“Shut up.” Turgon was still watching Finrod. “What’s your plan now? Are you going to…are you, like, _dating_ Curvo now? Are you and Moryo over for good? And what are you going to do when – ”

The door opened, and all three of them looked up.

“Hey, Finno,” Maedhros said, tiredly, as he turned to pull his key from the lock. “I didn’t manage to get anything for dinner, I was running late and – god, you wouldn’t believe the day I’ve – ” His eyes lit on Finrod, and for a moment he froze.

Finrod half rose to his feet, his mouth opening to say something, but Maedhros let out a snarl of rage that preempted any words.

“ _You_.”

“Maitimo,” said Fingon quickly. “He was just – ”

“You _motherfucker_.” Maedhros’ voice was low and deadly, and his face was contorted with fury. “Get the _fuck_ out of my house.”

“Maitimo – ” Fingon tried again, but Maedhros didn’t seem to see or hear anything but Finrod. He advanced on him, tall and threatening, and Finrod shrank back.

“You have five seconds to get out of here,” hissed Maedhros. “Five seconds, and then I swear to god I will rip you apart. How dare you, how _dare_ you come here, after what you’ve done to my brothers – ”

“I’m leaving now. I’m sorry…”

“ _Sorry_?” Maedhros looked like he was going to tear Finrod apart regardless of timing, and Fingon stepped between the two of them, placing a hand flat against Maedhros’ chest.

“Mae, take a breath.”

“A _breath_? That bastard – do you know what he – my _little brothers_ – ” Maedhros tried to move forward again and this time Fingon grabbed him around the waist and hauled him back.

“ _Easy_.”

“I never want to see you here again!” Maedhros roared, as Finrod slipped past him towards the door, Turgon following silently behind. “Fuck, I never want to see you again period, just stay away, stay _away_ from me, and stay the _fuck_ away from my brothers!”

The door clicked shut behind Turgon, and Fingon finally let Maedhros go.

“Okay, let it out, babe.”

But to his surprise, rather than more rage, Maedhros slumped down against the counter, his face falling from anger into exhaustion. Fingon instinctively reached for him again; Maedhros looked on the verge of tears.

“I don’t understand,” he whispered, as Fingon took him into his arms. “I don’t understand why everything’s falling apart. And my little brothers are getting hurt and I haven’t done anything to prevent it, and maybe if I still lived there…”

“That’s not it, Mae,” said Fingon gently, trying to ignore the swoop of anxiety at the thought that Maedhros might be regretting his move. “Your job isn’t to stop life from happening to your brothers, even though I know you want to make everything okay for them. This isn’t your fault, any of it, and it probably would have happened with or without you there.”

“Maybe,” said Maedhros, and sank his head onto Fingon’s shoulder as Fingon kissed his temple. “But now Tyelko’s not talking to dad, and Curvo’s not talking to dad _or_ to Moryo, Moryo won’t come home, and Káno’s not even in town and… How are _your_ siblings so functional? Why isn’t your family having this kind of drama?”

“Well,” said Fingon, settling back against the counter and pulling Maedhros with him. “As for family drama, I recently received word that my cousin is having a bit of chaos in his love life – oops, too soon to joke about that? Ow, _sorry_!” He flinched as Maedhros pinched him. “No Findaráto jokes yet, got it. But as for my siblings not having any drama, damn, just give them time.” He kissed Maedhros again. “Everything’s going to work out, I promise.” He stared into the distance, his smile slipping. “Somehow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2\. Fingon’s right, guys. Things are gonna work out, and next week’s gonna be better, I promise. Thanks for bearing with me through all the smashing and yelling.


	47. Any moment 'til the day breaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone is displaced to some degree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. This was originally almost 7k words long, but I decided to break some things out into the next chapter. It remains…about 4k words long.  
> 1\. Descriptions of school-related anxiety in the first scene.

Turgon’s alarm clock was set for early that morning, but he was jolted awake about 45 minutes early by something even more reliable than an alarm – the sizzling bolt of anxiety that cut straight into his subconscious and made his eyes snap open in a sudden panic, a feeling like cold fingers sifting through his gut.

_You have three hundred pages of reading and that midterm next Tuesday to study for and that paper to annotate and that research project your advisor wanted you to do and that fellowship to apply to and the clinic rotation and there is no way you’re going to get it all done in time, no way no way no way –_

He pushed himself out of bed, his heart beating unevenly in his chest as he fumbled for a sweatshirt to pull over his pajamas and tried to remember the breathing exercises his father had taught him.

_Is it inhale for five seconds, hold for three, exhale for seven, or is it inhale for seven, hold for five, exhale for - ?_

He grabbed his book bag and stepped out into the hall, past Bëor’s closed door and the half-open door of the spare room. On a whim, he stuck his head around the door and peeked in. A slim figure was curled under the quilt that Indis had given him for his last birthday, and as Turgon peeked closer, he saw that Finrod’s eyes were open and wakeful, and staring back at him.

Finrod blinked. “Good morning?”

“Oh. I didn’t think you’d be awake.”

Finrod smiled slightly. “And you thought you’d watch me sleeping for a while?”

“No! I just wanted to check – ”

“That I didn’t have another one of our cousins in here with me?”

“NO.” Turgon turned red. “I wanted to check on you, Ingo, don’t be a twit.”

“Sorry.” Finrod sat up, the blankets sliding off his shoulders. “I shouldn’t joke, I know. Thanks for checking in on me.”

“I didn’t think you’d be up this early.”

“I’m not up early so much as still awake very late.” Turgon saw now that there were deep shadows under Finrod’s eyes, and his skin was faintly grey with exhaustion.

“You couldn’t get to sleep?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“I’m sorry,” said Turgon, and meant it. He never liked seeing his friend looking so tired and sad – no matter that he probably deserved it. “Since I’m up, and you’re up, want some coffee? I was going to make a pot and then get started studying.”

“That sounds perfect,” said Finrod, in relief. “I actually have a book I need to be reading, so maybe I’ll join you on that whole ‘studying’ thing.”

Turgon brewed coffee while Finrod read aloud from the newspaper and they worked on a crossword together, getting in a heated debate over the correct spelling of the name of the calla lily family (Finrod turned out to be correct, to Turgon’s annoyance).  Then they both settled in on the couch, Turgon with his notebooks and flashcards, Finrod with his book.

A peaceful sort of stillness fell over the quiet apartment then, and the rabbit-quick stutter of Turgon’s heart calmed to a steady thud, the cold fingers in his stomach stilling. Studying at Finrod’s side was so familiar that he felt himself sinking into a sort of rhythm with it, unconsciously inhaling at the same time as his cousin, turning pages with almost the same motion.

Around 7am, Bëor emerged from his room, shirtless and with his hair in a tangled ponytail, his eyes bleary, and shuffled into the bathroom. When he reemerged, face scrubbed and hair combed back into a neat bun, he drew up short as he glanced into the living room and noticed, for the first time, that they had a guest.

“Goldie! What are you doing here?”

Finrod looked up and smiled at his old roommate. “Hello, sorry for the surprise invasion. I, um, found myself reluctant to go back to my place last night, so Turno kindly offered your spare bedroom. I hope that was all right.”

“Of course!” Bëor grinned broadly. “It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve just turned up in the middle of the night.”

Finrod shook his head. “I still can’t believe that the first time we met you were so out of it you had no idea who I was.”

“I was drunk, it was midnight, you were all shiny-haired and preppy, and you were singing Neil Young. I was _confused_ , okay? How was I supposed to know it was just my freshman roommate moving in?”

“Still, you saying, ‘Jesus, is that you?’ made NO sense.”

“You’re right, there. No way is Jesus blond.”

“Thank you,” said Turgon.

“Anyway, always good to have our favorite wiseass back around.”

Finrod groaned. “Oh, god. Bëor, no one has used that nickname in – ”

“Nickname?” asked Turgon with interest.

“You don’t remember this? Goldie here always knew every damn answer during orientation and would never shut up in any of the discussion sessions – _and_ he ended up in a senior seminar his first semester at school. One of our professors would always say, ‘Ah yes, Arafinwion, very wise’, in response to every damn thing he said, we think he was probably in love with him. So both the kids on our floor and the seniors in his seminar started calling him Felagund the Wise, which became ‘Wiseass’ pretty fast. Our pretty little know-it-all wiseacre…”

“Oh, go get dressed,” said Finrod, with good-natured annoyance. “Pretty little know-it-all wiseacre yourself, you hairy oaf.”

Bëor slapped his well-furred chest and tipped Turgon a wink. “You know you love a man with a pelt, Felagund.”

“Yes, they make excellent faux bearskin rugs. Put some clothes on.”

Bëor headed back to his room, towel over his shoulder, whistling cheerfully, and Turgon and Finrod returned to their reading.

Finally, Turgon stretched out with a groan, his first real movement in almost an hour, his knees popping as he stretched his legs out fully and rested them in Finrod’s lap. Finrod lifted his book briefly to make room, then set it down again, propped against Turgon’s toes.

Bëor came out of his room fully dressed, and passed through the living room on his way out the door, pausing to ruffle up Finrod’s hair. “Seeing you buried in a book is giving me flashbacks to freshman year, nerd.”

“Trying to work while you invade my personal space is giving me flashbacks to you shotgunning beers on Wednesday nights, _bro_.”

“I never said there wasn’t a good reason I dropped out of college.” Bëor scrubbed up Finrod’s hair again affectionately, and as Finrod made an indignant noise and blew his bangs out of his eyes, he clapped Turgon on the shoulder. “Hey, by the way, I’m expecting a delivery today. Will you be around to sign for it?”

“For most of the day,” said Turgon, thinking. “I think. Wait, no, I have to go to the clinic later on.”

“I can stick around for it,” volunteered Finrod. “I’m not quite ready to go home yet anyway,” he said, dropping his eyes, as Turgon and Bëor looked at him curiously.

“Stay as long as you need to,” said Bëor, and Turgon nodded.

“What’s the delivery?” asked Finrod, changing the subject.

Bëor’s face lit up. “It’s a care package from my lady.”

“You have a lady?”

Bëor clasped his hands together rapturously. “The grandest lady in all the world, my child. She is brilliant and funny and lord, she has an ass that won’t quit.”

“Very important,” said Turgon and Finrod together.

“Where is this goddess among women?” asked Finrod, setting his book upside down over Turgon’s legs. “Do I know her?”

“Careful, Bëor, don't give him any ideas,” muttered Turgon, and Finrod looked at him in astonishment.

“Was that _sass_ , Nolofinwion? Was that a _burn_?”

“I am capable of it, you know,” said Turgon, pulling his notebook close to his nose to try and decipher his own handwriting, and pushing his feet into Finrod’s stomach.

“Oof. Anyway, _not_ for any lecherous intent, Bëor, where is your ladyfriend that she’s sending you care packages?”

“We’ve been in a long-distance relationship for…two years now,” said Bëor, tugging on his work boots. “She works on a military base in California as a medic. She’s got two more years to serve.”

Finrod made a noise of sympathy. “That’s rough.”

“It’s okay,” said Bëor, straightening up and grabbing his carhartt from the hook by the door. “We’ve got an arrangement worked out so we can survive five years not sharing a bed, and when she comes to visit next time she’s on leave…” he grinned, his eyes twinkling. “I’m gonna propose to her.”

“No!” said Turgon and Finrod together, delighted.

Bëor pointed at them. “If you two keep doing that speaking at the same time thing, it’s gonna get creepy fast. Goldie, if you really do wait around for that delivery, stick around for dinner tonight, I’ll cook for you. You need some meat on your bones, and my pierogies will fatten you up until you’re round and pink and delightful.”

“I’m always delightful,” said Finrod, as Turgon asked hopefully, “Will you cook for me, too?”

“Of course, muffin.” Bëor waved and stepped out the door. “Don’t study too hard, bubbelehs! Am I using that term correctly, Turno?”

“Close enough,” said Turgon, flicking a flashcard at Finrod. “Say hi to my brother for me, and see you tonight.”

 

* * *

 

Haleth’s alarm went off and she whimpered, reaching out to mute her phone. “Nng, nooo.”

Shoving the phone under her pillow, she wriggled down in the blankets, pressing back against the warm body behind her. Someone sleepily wrapped an arm around her waist, and she gave a murmur of contentment, curling back into Lalwen’s arms. She was nearly asleep again before she realized that it couldn’t be Lalwen holding her, as the body behind her prominently possessed something that she was quite sure Lalwen lacked.

With a squeak, Haleth flailed at the blankets and rolled out of bed, dropping heavily to the floor.

From the other bed, Andreth groaned. “Haleth, what are you _doing_?”

“Help,” said Haleth, from under the bed. “What’s in my bed?”

“It’s Caranthir, you idiot,” said Andreth, and pulled her pillow over her head. “Now please shut up, I have half an hour more to sleep.”

Haleth crawled out from under the bed, blinking dazedly, and stuck her head over the mattress. The gangly, dark-haired figure who had taken advantage of her precipitate exit to steal her pillow was quite clearly not Lalwen, but Lalwen’s nephew.

“Moryo,” she hissed.

Caranthir burrowed into the blankets, tightening his grip on Haleth’s pillow. “Go th’fuck away.”

Haleth grabbed a handful of blankets and pulled, but Caranthir just rolled over, pinning the blankets in place. She gave up and clambered back into bed, wedging her feet against Caranthir’s back and pushing until he scooted over. “Twin extra long beds are not good for sharing,” she grumbled. “There’s a reason I never used to bring girls back to my room if I could help it…”

“Shut up,” said Andreth and Caranthir together, muffled and sleepy.

Haleth wrinkled her nose and leaned down so she could whisper in Caranthir’s ear. “You get half an hour more then we’re getting up and going for breakfast and we’re gonna talk, got it?”

“Mph. Got it. Go ‘way.”

 

-

 

“So there are three things we need to discuss.” Haleth counted on her fingers as she and Caranthir made their way down the sidewalk to Cuiviénen. “One: Sharing a bed isn’t working out. I love you, but I love having room to spread out more, and I swear, I thought part of my lesbian contract was never having to deal with morning wood.”

“I _said_ I was sorry about that.”

“It’s okay, I get that these things are natural and involuntary and all a part of the circle of life, or whatever. But it’s a really unexpected awakening, y’know? Thing two: You haven’t been home in three days. Don’t you need access to your stuff? Are you planning on going back anytime soon?”

“No.”

“But – ”

“I’m not going back there. I don’t want to see him.” Caranthir shoved his hands into his pockets and scowled at the ground. “I don’t want to know that he’s upstairs from me all the time, and I don’t want to know if F- anyone starts coming over to see him. I don’t want to see or hear him or know anything about him, because I swear, I’m going to hit him if I do.”

“I hear that,” said Haleth, shuffling her feet and bumping against Caranthir’s side in a companionable way. “Part of me wants to tell you to just go hit him and you’ll feel better, but violence isn’t the answer, blah blah, and also I don’t think it _would_ make you feel better.”

“So what’s the third thing?” Caranthir pushed open the door to Cuiviénen, instinctively looking to the counter for a familiar, red-bandana’ed figure – who wasn’t there.

“Right.” Haleth dropped her jacket onto the back of a chair to claim them a table. “Let’s get some drinks and then we’ll talk about thing the third.”

Settled with their coffees and a communal croissant, Haleth and Caranthir wedged their bags under the table and Haleth dove into the part of the conversation she’d been bracing for. “Moryo, you’re my best friend, and I’m here for you 100%, you know that?”

“Yeah.” Caranthir shredded a piece of croissant, then looked up at her, his dark eyes suddenly surprised. “Wait, I’m your best friend?”

“You didn’t know that?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Haleth rescued a scrap of croissant from Caranthir’s destructive fingers and ate it. “Yes. I mean, mostly because I’m assuming you’ll grow out of being a libertarian at some point, and with that little character flaw taken care of, you’re pretty much exactly the kind of person I like best.”

Predictably, Caranthir blushed, and took a quick swig of coffee to cover his embarrassment. “Y’r a g’d fren too,” he mumbled.

Haleth smiled, a little embarrassed herself. “Okay, now that we’ve got that established…Moryo, it’s not going to work for you to stay in my room much longer. If it was just me, you’d totally be welcome, but I have a roommate, and a very small bed, and it’s just not feasible long-term. I get why you don’t want to go home, but my dorm room isn’t the answer.” Caranthir looked down at his plate, and Haleth cringed, feeling terrible. “I’m really, really sorry.”

“Nah, I get it,” said Caranthir, still not meeting her eyes. “I just dunno where else to go. Going back to my parents would be fucking hell, and I don’t really have other friends…”

“Hang on,” said Haleth suddenly. “Yeah, you do. And you have other family, too.”

Caranthir stared at her. “If you’re talking about my cousins, I don’t think – ”

“Not your cousins. Your aunt.”

“My aunt – My aunt, your _girlfriend_?”

Haleth shrugged. “She was your aunt first. And hey, don’t tell anyone, but you’re totally her favorite nephew.”

“You…you think she’d be okay with me staying with her?”

“Haven’t you stayed with her before?”

“Well, yeah, but that was before. I kinda flipped at her a bit over…”

“Me,” supplied Haleth. “I’m really sorry about that, again, by the way. But come on, Lalwen doesn’t hold grudges, and I know she’d really like to see you again, and she’s not even far from campus!”

Caranthir rested his chin in his hand, looking thoughtful instead of angry and preoccupied for the first time in days. “Huh. Yeah. Let’s do that.”

 

* * *

 

Curufin crossed to his bureau and rummaged for a sweater to pull on over his shirt. His hand lit on his charcoal grey wool sweater, the one he wore the most – but then he paused. Caranthir had given him the sweater two Christmases ago, with his usual shrug like he couldn’t care less as he'd explained,  _It’s merino wool so it won’t itch, and I know you don’t like bright colors._  He’d knit it in the evenings, after his homework was done, Celegorm told him later, and had obsessed over the cables. It hadn’t consciously become Curufin’s favorite sweater, but it fit well, and, as advertised, didn’t itch, and he liked how it heightened the contrast between his skin and his hair and his eyes, and somehow it had become his favorite sweater, without him really thinking about it. But now…

Curufin realized he’d been staring at the sweater for a solid minute, his eyesight blurring as he lost focus. Blinking rapidly and tightening his lips, he fisted a hand in the sweater and shoved it into the back of his drawer, out of sight. Part of him wanted to throw it away, into the trashcan where the pieces of his electronics had been swept, but for some reason his hand refused to follow that particular command. So out of sight it went, and instead he grabbed a navy sweater that Finrod had once said made his eyes look almost blue.

He pulled it on and went downstairs, the house creaking and sighing with the weight of all the people who weren’t there. He thought about calling out to see if Celegorm was home, but the gesture felt terribly desperate, somehow, and so he bit his tongue, and tried not to listen to the heavy silence of the house.

It hadn’t been this empty in years.

He reached instinctively for his phone, wanting, suddenly, to call Finrod very badly, but then he remembered that his phone was in the trash with the rest of his broken electronics. His hand dropped to his side and he drew in a deep breath. “Stop being such a child,” he said, aloud, and stepped into a patch of sunlight.

 

* * *

 

_From: “Makalaurë F.” <[mightyvoice@gmail.com](mailto:liveoakwithmoss@gmail.com)>_

_To: “Maitimo F.” <[nelyafinwe@finwecorp.com](mailto:liveoakwithmoss@gmail.com)>_

_Subject: Checking in from NYC (resisting urge to break into theme from Annie, don’t laugh)_

_Dear Nelyo,_

_Well, it’s been three days (four?) and I think I’m going to like NYC. I know that’s not original – ‘barista with musical aspirations goes to Manhattan, LIKES IT’ is hardly a headline – but I really do feel like there’s just a ton of possibility here. And also it’s just plain cool._

_I was weirdly worried about seeing Daeron again, but do you have those friends who you can go like a year without talking to, and then you see them, and it’s like no time has passed? That’s apparently me and Daeron, which is a relief. I think I resent him more from a distance than I do in person. In person I remember all the things I like about him, and the things that bother me seem a lot less important. He looks a bit different: he’s grown his hair out (hm WONDER WHERE HE GOT THAT IDEA FROm – ok, no, I know I’m being petty already) and he wears clothes that are all Brooklyn Hipster Chic (or at least that’s what Ria calls it), but he’s still Daeron, still the kid I’ve been friends with for fifteen years, and he’s been super friendly and welcoming. I’m staying in his apartment and the first night we stayed up til like 3am playing together, like old times. I mean, a good part of me staying up was also because I’d just called Moryo to check in, and…well, you know. You talked to me after. Anyway, needless to say it was hard to sleep while I was that worked up, so I was awake and Daeron just brought out his guitar and we played for the next three hours. Then we slept in til about 1 and headed out into the city._

_It’s so BIG, Nelyo, it’s…scary and exciting, all at once. It’s kind of like the ocean. You know how you can stand on the shore and watch the waves come in and it’s simultaneously ‘this is beautiful and awe inspiring and incredible’ and ‘this thing is so much more powerful than I am and could kill me in an instant’ and you just end up rooted to the spot, half thrilled and half terrified? The city feels like that._

_I know we came here when we were younger and dad was spending time traveling more, but you really get a new perspective when you’re not surrounded by family and your main focus isn’t Times Sq or the Broadway production of_ Phantom _. I get glimpses of all the little details now, the back alleys and side streets and interesting neighborhoods and quirky people and seriously,_ I can’t stop writing _. I actually started writing in the car on the way up until Ria told me she needed me to navigate and possibly sing the pig song again – long story, I’ll get into it later – so I’ve got like 3 verses of SOMETHING on a napkin in my guitar case…and I feel like music is just pouring out of me. CLICHÉ AGAIN just put me out of my misery._

_But enough about me. How are you doing? How’s work? Ria says the kids love you – no surprise, we always did – and that you’ve got a couple shadows who would follow you everywhere if it was allowed. No adopting any new little siblings, we have enough! Though, I suppose you could just straight up adopt some kids now…give Findekáno a surprise ;-)_

_And okay, how’s Moryo? Have you talked to him? I’ve been texting with him some but after that night where we talked for a long time I haven’t heard much…do you know if he’s been back to the house? Do you know if he and Curvo have interacted at all?_

_I really shouldn’t be as mad at Curvo as I am. I know you feel like he’s just a kid dealing with his first crush (sorry, I refuse to call it a ‘relationship’) and being immature about it, not blatantly trying to hurt anyone, but I dunno…I’m just pissed. Pissed pissed pissed. About all of it. Maybe I’m pissed at myself for having fun in NYC when I should be back there helping sort shit out._

_I don’t want to leave yet – things are only getting started – but I_ wish _I were there with Moryo. Or I wish I could bring Moryo here with me. I just want everything to be okay for him. God, it’s just the three of them in that house right now, or not even, if Moryo is staying away. How is Tyelko handling it all??? Have you checked in with him? Because damn, he’s still dealing with all the stuff with Orome and dad – any updates on that, either? – and he’s not the greatest at handling this sort of thing at the best of times._

_Listen, this might be totally overstepping, but: would you mind spending some time over there? Even (if Findekáno is ok with it) spending a couple nights? Just…keep an eye on them. I know Tyelko is more responsible than we give him credit for, but Curvo’s always going to be his priority and I don’t want Moryo to fall off the radar. I want someone to be looking out for ALL of them. And I know you are already, of course you are, but I’m just feeling guilty that I’m not there, and ARGH. Is this how you feel all the time?? This weird feeling of duty and responsibility and like you can’t SHAKE this whole big brother identity no matter what? No wonder it took you so long to finally move out…._

_How’s Findekáno, by the way? Work going alright for him? Remember that he tends to look cheerful even when he’s stressed out, and he usually prioritizes other people’s drama over his own. So it might be hard to notice things when our own family is fucking exploding, but make sure you check in with him. Curvo said something last week about layoffs at the company that raised some red flags for me…_

_sorry, shit, didn’t mean to lecture you on your own boyfriend. You obvs know all this already and are probably on it. I just don’t want you to blow it again! jk jk I have total faith in you (kinda)_

_I miss you. sigh. I wish you were here. Except also I’m glad you’re back in beleriand to keep an eye on everyone. Except mostly I wish none of the bad shit was happening, and you and I could explore NYC and just not worry for once._

_I’m being maudlin now, ignore me._

_I should go. Dai and I are going to meet Ria and her friend for a happy hour. Take care, big brother._

_Love,_

_Káno_

_(…Yeah, I’m signing it ‘love’ even though I can hear Tyelko telling me ‘that’s gay’ from here. Make sure he understands the irony of that statement.)_

_PS how do you still have a finwecorp email address? is it one of the perks of banging the vp??_

 


	48. Keep it calm with the fast pace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gathering up loose threads, starting others unspooling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Includes two text conversations, an email, and a chat. I am sorry I am suddenly overly excited by 21st century communications, just be glad I resisted the urge to throw some snapchats in here. Especially since they would definitely be nsfw shapchats.

_hey babe. guess what?_

 

_What?_

 

_my family has implodeddd_

 

_What does that mean? Is everyone okay? What happened?_

 

_my little brothers ended up in a love triangle._

_with our cousin._

_i think i can picture your expression rn._

_…_

_orome? you there?_

 

_Yes. Processing. How is everyone doing?_

 

_curvos pretending nothing happened and moryo won’t come home._

_HURRAH it looks like i am no longer the one with the most complicated love life_

 

_Jesus. When it rains it pours…_

 

_Yea no shit._

_anyway…i’d kill to see you, but i kinda want to stick around the house._

 

_Understandable. Your family should come first._

 

_i wanna make a joke about that_

 

_Don’t_

 

_how bout you come over here and make ME come first?_

 

_Some day I’m going to learn to just not set these things up for you._

 

_i’m actually serious. come over?_

_I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I wouldn’t want to make your brothers uncomfortable._

 

_it’s just curvo. and if the kid is gonna pretend nothings going on,_

_he can pretend i’m not fucking my boyfriend across the hall from him._

 

_Is there an emoticon that expresses extreme discomfort?_

 

_i’ll show u if u come over here_

 

_Let me think about it. I have to call Nessa before it gets much later, anyway, can I call you after?_

  

_sure. but if ur gonna make me wait, send dick pics._

 

_Nope._

 

_PLS_

 

_Love you, bye_

 

_OROME_

_gdi_

 

Oromë leaned against the windowsill and dialed his sister’s number. He’d been promising to call her ever since the story about him and Celegorm had broken, but what with one thing and another, they kept missing each other. He half wondered if the reason she hadn’t come to see him in person had anything to do with the fact that her husband was the chief of police, and couldn’t be seen to be involved with this kind of scandal. But he dismissed the idea; he and Tulkas had been as close as brothers for years, and Tulkas never gave much thought to reputations anyway.

The phone rang.

“Is that you?” Nessa’s soft, musical voice floated down the line, and Oromë tilted his head against the window.

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Goodness, I thought we might be playing phone tag for the next month or so.” She sounded amused, but he could also pick up on the concern underlying her tone. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

She worried about him, he knew – it was her job, she had said once, as his older sister, to think of all the worst-case scenarios he could end up in and then try to keep him out of them. He thought he’d gotten most of those worst-case scenarios out of the way in his teens and twenties – how many times had she bailed him out, or patched him up, or helped him keep his secrets from their parents? But now, after more than a decade of stable responsibility and his life in order, Nessa was once again speaking in that gentle voice that nevertheless was as commanding as a drill sergeant’s, trying to work out what was salvageable from Oromë’s mistakes.

“Vána called me and said she has you connected with a lawyer. Now, I’m sure whomever you have is very competent, but there’s another name I can give you, someone who’s actually taken on Fëanor in court before, and I’d urge you to consider…”

“I’m fine, Nessa, but thank you.”

“Are you doing that thing you do?”

“What thing do I do?”

“That thing where you don’t fight as hard as you should on your own behalf because you secretly think you deserve the punishment? I know masochism runs in the family, but honestly, if you’re not going to muster all the resources you possibly can, I’m going to do it for you.”

“You haven’t told me what you think yet.”

“What I think of what? The lawyer? I think you should do it, and I can tell you why–”

“No, about all of this. About this…situation.”

Nessa fell silent, and Oromë could picture her as clearly as if she was pacing in front of him. She would be standing in her sunlit kitchen, almost as tall as he and straight-backed and elegant, leaning against the island as though it was the barre of her studio, rolling out her ankles one at a time in the way she did when she was restless.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said at last. “What’s done is done and now we just need to sort it all out.”

“I’m asking you what you think, Nessa.”

“I think I am your sister, and I love you, and I am here for you.”

“And?”

Nessa sighed and Oromë could feel a shift in the atmosphere. “And…”

“It’s okay, you can say it.”

“What were you _thinking_? Oromë, what was the _point_ of this elaborate charade with Vána if you were going to throw the whole thing away for something like this? Could you have _chosen_ a more explosive way to out yourself? Couldn’t you _at least_ have waited until the boy graduated, or was no longer your player, and my god, could it have been anyone but the son of one of the most litigious and antagonistic men in the city at that – Little brother, have you lost your _mind?_ ”

“It would be a much better excuse if I had, wouldn’t it?”

Nessa drew in a deep breath, and Oromë could see her closing her eyes and composing herself until her expression was as calm and beatific as when she took the stage. He waited.

“Was it worth it?” she asked, finally, and Oromë blinked, surprised.

“Yes,” he said, honestly. “Yes, he is worth it. I am happy, Nessa.”

“Then that’s that,” said Nessa crisply. “Now, will you be around for dinner next week?”

Their conversation came easier after that, as though they had untangled a knot in the line connecting them, until a car pulled up before Oromë’s house and he broke off mid-sentence as a red-haired woman got out. “I – I’m going to have to call you back, Nessa.”

“Why’s that?”

“Tyelkormo’s mother just showed up at my house.”

 

-

 

Every other time Oromë had encountered Nerdanel, she had been bright-eyed and laughing, lively and expressive beside her husband’s dark intensity. It had been her humor, and the way she laughed, that had always put Oromë in mind of Celegorm, and that had made him seem far more his mother’s son than his father’s.

But now Nerdanel’s expressive mouth was set in a tight line, and her eyes – the same shade of brown as Celegorm’s – were cold and distant. Her bright hair, which she usually wore in an unruly pile on top of her head, was twisted severely back, and if Celegorm had been there, he would have identified it as Nerdanel’s ‘going into battle’ look – reserved for lunches with art critics and funders, or reticent PTA boards.

Or the wayward lovers of her sons.

Oromë welcomed her in with as little awkwardness as he could manage, and she sat down at his table and dove in with no preamble, as if she had a set of tasks laid out before her and she was determined to get through them all in as businesslike a manner as possible.

“I always liked you,” she said. “I always deeply appreciated all that you did. I don’t know how aware of this fact Fëanaro is, but I knew the track Tyelkormo was heading down, and it was your intervention that averted that. I was profoundly _grateful_ to you, I thought you were a positive influence in my son’s life, I was _happy_ that he had you. And that’s what makes me so sick over this now.”

Oromë felt sick too. “I understand.”

“How long did you have your eye on him?” demanded Nerdanel. “Did you start wanting him when he first joined the team, when he was eighteen and vulnerable and – ”

“No!” The sick feeling intensified, and Oromë struggled to stay calm. “I have cared about Tyelko – like any of my players – from the very beginning. But I did not…I did not realize I had feelings for him until much later.”

“How much later?”

He had no choice but to be honest. _Speak the truth now, even if it’s far too late to redeem yourself._ “The spring of his junior year.”

“And when did you first act on those feelings?”

 _Even if it kills you._ “That summer.”

Nerdanel’s hands shook in her lap and she stilled them. “The summer he stayed with you while the house was being renovated.”

“Yes.” Oromë wanted desperately to close his eyes, but he wouldn’t allow himself be so cowardly.

Nerdanel’s lips were pressed so tightly together they had gone white. “Did you initiate a physical relationship?”

“No,” said Oromë softly. “He did. But I did not…tell him no.”

“Obviously.” Nerdanel let out a shaky breath and briefly rested her face in her hands. “Oh, _shit_ , maybe I can’t do this. I’m sorry. This is not easy for me to talk about.”

“I know,” said Oromë, wretched. “But please, anything I can tell you that will make–”

“This easier? I’m afraid we’re beyond that.” Nerdanel dropped her hands to smooth them over her lap and her eyes fell on the neat stack of papers on the table. A picture was poking out of the stack, and she tilted her head to examine it. “May I?”

“Of course,” said Oromë, helplessly. He knew what picture it was. It had been taken with Celegorm’s cell phone, on a hike they’d done that fall. In it, Celegorm was hanging over Oromë’s back, one arm across his chest, holding him close. His other arm was stretched out to take the picture, and he was laughing, carefree and utterly alive with happiness. Oromë wasn’t looking at the camera, but up at Celegorm, smiling and relaxed, the affection in his face palpable as Celegorm leaned his head against Oromë’s. It made him almost self-conscious, looking at the picture now, to see the stark love and tenderness with which he gazed at Celegorm. But he loved the picture, loved it for the way the sunlight struck Celegorm’s bright head, and the transported joy in his face, and the way he held onto Oromë with such total familiarity, as if holding him was second nature.

Nerdanel was studying the picture, her expression closed off but something like pained fondness in her eyes as she looked at her son laughing up at her.

“You seem to make him very happy,” she said quietly.

“I hope I do,” said Oromë, and wondered if it was inappropriate to speak like this to Celegorm’s mother. But honesty, after all…“Being with him is the happiest I’ve ever been, and the least I can do is give him some happiness in return.” He held his breath, feeling he’d overstepped after all.

But Nerdanel was still not looking at him. She laid the picture carefully on the table. “Where do you see this going, Coach Aldaron? Where do you see yourself with him? He’s not even twenty-five. He’s been out of college barely a year, he’s had essentially no meaningful romantic relationships in his life. And you – you’re closer in age to me than you are to Tyelko. Is this just an early midlife crisis, a fling with some attractive young man before you move onto the flashy sports car?”

“No,” said Oromë, shocked out of silence. “Do you really think I would have gone through all of this for a meaningless affair? I’ve taken none of this lightly – my job, the trust of those I respect, my own code of ethics – I wouldn’t sacrifice those for a _fling_. Even when I had come to terms with the fact that I was in love with Tyelkormo, I tried as hard as I could to end things, to bring it all to a halt – ”

Nerdanel snorted. “Forgive me if I’m unimpressed by your efforts to do the right thing, when they _clearly_ didn’t work.”

Oromë dropped his eyes again. “I know.”

“And if this isn’t simply an affair, what do you expect from it? For a twenty-four year old kid to settle down and start a life with you, because that’s where you are, even if he isn’t? If he adores you the way I suspect he does, he will try and do what he thinks you want from him, rather than what’s best for him, and that, beyond all this nonsense of you being his coach and mentor, is what worries me.”

Nerdanel’s voice had risen sharply, and her brows had drawn together, her hands clenched in her lap. She was nearly a foot shorter than Oromë, but he felt himself wanting to retreat from her.

He didn’t.

“I have exactly the same concerns,” he said. “I don’t want to rush him into a commitment, or a relationship, that moves faster than what he’s ready for. I don’t want to deprive him of the exploration and experience he deserves to fully have – but I have also learned that I cannot presume to simply do what I think is best for him and push him away. He is young, but he is an adult, and he has made it clear that he has no patience with others making decisions for him. I will not try to convince him to stay with me when it’s clear he needs or wants to move on, but I’m not going to push him away when he’s made it evident he wants to be with me. I always thought I would end up alone,” he said it baldly, admitting something he’d known for years, but rarely said to anyone, “so returning to that state will hardly be a shock for me.” He found that saying it, though he meant the sentiment wholeheartedly, was harder than he’d imagined. The thought of losing Celegorm, of losing that companionship and love, stabbed at him like a knife. “I will accept the gift that is Tyelkormo’s love for as long as it is offered to me, but I will never try to hold him back.”

Nerdanel studied him for a long time, not saying anything. Then she stood. “Thank you, Coach Aldaron, for your time.”

Oromë stood too, rather at a loss. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No.” Nerdanel brushed back a strand of hair that had escaped her severe bun. Nahar saw her moving to the door and clicked eagerly over to see if a walk was being offered. “I’ve gotten what I came for, more or less.”

“What was that?”

“Trying to get some sense of the man my son fell in love with.” Nerdanel met his eyes squarely, and while her expression was still tight, her eyes were less cold. “I’m having to start from scratch, you see, since you are clearly not the man I thought you were. Nevertheless,” she sighed, “I am not laboring under the same delusion my husband is, that you are going to be going anywhere anytime soon. When Tyelko sets his mind on something…” Her eyes fell once again on the picture on the table, at the wild happiness in Celegorm’s laughing face, at the arm he had so tightly wrapped around Oromë’s chest. “I wanted to get some sense of the kind of man you are,” she said again. “Of why he might love you – and if there’s any chance you come close to being deserving of that love.”

“And?” Oromë asked, unable to help himself.

“Too soon to tell,” said Nerdanel, as she turned to leave. “Don’t take this as anything close to receiving my blessing, but,” she added over her shoulder. “I imagine your lawyers will get in touch soon and let you know that the civil suit has been dropped.”

“Your husband – ”

“It will be dropped,” Nerdanel said, with finality. “The university still may do whatever they wish with you, and I will not pretend to hope you keep your job – but it will not go to court.” She laid a hand on Nahar’s head in passing and left, the sun glinting off her hair in the moment before the door closed behind her.

 

* * *

 

Celegorm was lounging on his bed, listening with one ear to a baseball game on the radio as he threw a ball against the wall for Huan’s entertainment. Usually Curufin would have stormed into his room by now to demand he be quieter, but he hadn’t heard a whisper from Curufin all day, nor seen more than a glimpse of him in passing. He knew he should probably go try and talk to his brother, but he couldn’t for the life of him think what he would say.

His phone dinged and he reached for it, turning the radio down and dropping the ball into Huan’s eager jaws.

It was Oromë.

_Do you still want me to come over?_

 

_um the answer to that is always yes_

 

_Then I’m on my way._

 

_did those nudes i sent convince you? ;)_

 

_I haven’t looked at them yet. But I want to see you, now._

 

_how can u resist looking?? ok just hurry up n soon youll get the real thing anyway. what convinced u then?_

 

_Your mother_

 

_what?? aw thats sick, dude_

 

_I’ll tell you everything when I get there. Tyelko?_

 

_yea?_

 

_I love you._

 

_i know it_

_< 3_

 

* * *

 

_From: “Irimë” <[LOLwen@belrockgym.com](mailto:liveoakwithmoss@gmail.com)> _

_To: “Makalaurë F.” <[mightyvoice@gmail.com](mailto:liveoakwithmoss@gmail.com)>_

_Subject: Updates from the home front_

_Hey ho, Makalaure, your dear Aunty L. here,_

_(Moryo gets creeped out when I refer to myself in the 3_ _ rd _ _person, so I’m doing it as much as possible, as an experiment. Does it creep you out too? Right now I’ve asked three nephews and they all say yea but I think it’s a biased sample.)_

_I’m writing to catch you up to speed on things back home. I know your big brother has been meaning to email you, but between you and me, the kid looks fried to the bone. Balancing work and going back to school and working shifts at the bar and trying to keep an eye on the rest of the passel of brats…well. If he doesn’t watch himself, he’s going to get some grey streaks in that hair of his I’ve always envied. Sweet Finno is keeping him from keeling over, of course, because Sweet Finno is a gem, and we should all be so lucky._

_So here’s the update: Moryo’s staying with me. I don’t know if he’s been in touch with you, but he and Haleth showed up the other day and I had him settled in by the afternoon. God knows I understand the ‘needing some space’ thing, and the ‘needing a change of scene’ thing, and I’ve tried not to pry too much, but I got some of the story out of him and Haleth. Whew. I suppose we always knew that if/when Curvo dove into the dating scene it would be utter rout, but I had no idea he’d plunge straight into this kind of drama. Also: WHAT IS WITH THIS HABIT OF BOFFING COUSINS?? At this point, you’re one of the few in the family who’s managed to resist that urge. Tell Maitimo he’s a dangerous trendsetter._

_Right, back to Moryo. He’s doing okay here. He seems to have forgiven me for dating his friend – I suppose he now realizes that there are worse offenses for family to commit! – and we’re buddies again. I have quietly dropped a line to your parents that he’s staying with me – none of the details, just a vague comment about him needing to be away from the chaos of a house full of people to really focus on his studies. It’s a weak story, but I get the feeling they’re preoccupied right now. I’ve heard about Tyelko’s drama, and your father’s explosion over that… Nerdanel made some noises at me about working towards some sort of peace, but I don’t have the latest. I see what they’re getting at and why they’re worked up, but I have to say that most of my reaction to hearing Tyelko is sleeping with Oromë Aldaron was ‘oh man, I have a copy of_ Sports Illustrated _with an interview with him in it!’ That crazy brother of yours could do a lot worse, honestly. The demons are equally excited._

_I have no doubt, by the way, that all of you knew about that well before your parents did, and can I just say…I never want to be up against the seven of you working together. You could rule the world, if you’d just stop getting distracted and sleeping with each other’s romantic partners/cousins. Not you, of course, you are a flawless pearl who has boffed no cousins (that I know of) nor nabbed anyone’s lover. Good boy._

_I swung by the house earlier to pick up some of Moryo’s things, and it’s eerie over there. So quiet it feels a little dead, just Tyelko and Curvo and neither of them saying much. Tyelko looks a bit weary, and older than he usually does, and Curvo was like stone. He always looks a lot like your dad, but especially when he doesn’t want you to read him. He might as well have been a carving of himself, and even he and Tyelko weren’t interacting much, which is unusual. Your kid brother has never been one for friendly small talk, but I honestly had way more success talking to the dog than to him (that thing is enormous, by the way, has it stopped growing yet??)_

_I’m sort of curious about what’s going on with my other wayward nephew – you know, the third point on this triangle. I know all of you want to skin Ingo alive, but I’d be interested to hear what on earth he’s thinking right now. Artanis says he hasn’t been home much lately either and I bet you big bucks he’s hiding out with Turno. I’d be a lot more worried about the crazies he’s getting up to if I didn’t know that Turno’s got an eye on him. Sweet Finno for the emotionally exhausted, Dependable Turno for the romantically unstable._

_Speaking of Nolofinwions, my buddy who runs the downtown gym swore up and down to me that Irissë punched out some dude in the lobby not too long ago. Do you know anything about this??? If Tyelko was not in some way involved, I will eat my hat (I don’t have a hat). She’s the next one on my ‘to-email-and-harass’ list._

_How’s New York? How long are you planning on staying? Nelyo seemed under the impression you’d be home soon, but I told him not to underestimate the power of a new city…_

_Love,_

_Lalwen_

 

* * *

 

dairon@cirth.net: Mags. Where are you?

 **mightyvoice@gmail.com:** Downstairs. Coffee shop. Answering emails etc

dairon@cirth.net: Why aren’t you picking up your phone?

 **mightyvoice@gmail.com:** It’s charging, sorry. Why are you trying to call me?

dairon@cirth.net: Because I have NEWS. Listen, were you planning on staying a while?

 **mightyvoice@gmail.com:** No, I think I need to go to go home this weekend. I have a job I should get back to, and my family, and all that.

dairon@cirth.net: You can’t go.

 **mightyvoice@gmail.com:** Um, sorry?

dairon@cirth.net: You CAN’T, dude, not after yesterday!

 **mightyvoice@gmail.com:** What about it?

dairon@cirth.net: I know we pulled you into the session just because we needed a replacement backing guitarist at the last minute, but my producer played the cut for me today and it’s fucking AMAZING. We’ve never sounded so good.

 **mightyvoice@gmail.com:** Really?

dairon@cirth.net: Yeah. He liked your vocals too, he says we should do more harmonizing. We actually think we wanna go back and rerecord like half the album to incorporate you into it.

 **mightyvoice@gmail.com:** SERIOUSLY?

dairon@cirth.net: YEAH. Haven’t we always been killer together?? Come on, Mags, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. They want you on the album. I want you on the album! I shoulda invited you ages ago, tbh, I can’t believe I didn’t think of it.

 **mightyvoice@gmail.com:** Well, the label only wanted you, to start.

dairon@cirth.net: You’re not gonna get bitter over that NOW, are you? I thought we were past this.

 **mightyvoice@gmail.com:** We are, we are. I’m just trying to catch up. I really do need to go home by the end of the week though. Can I do the recording in the next couple days?

dairon@cirth.net: Are you kidding? Bro, this is us redoing the whole album. This is quality studio time and we can’t rush it, we’ve gotta do it right. Not to mention I’ve got a live gig coming up and I want you to perform with me.

 **mightyvoice@gmail.com:** …

dairon@cirth.net: Mags.

 **mightyvoice@gmail.com:** I heard you. I’m trying not to die over here.

dairon@cirth.net: EXACTLY. THIS IS BIG. You can’t leave yet or you’ll totally blow this chance

 **mightyvoice@gmail.com:** Ok, but Dai, you might be able to take as much time as you want to ‘do this right’, but YOU’RE on contract. YOU’RE getting paid to be here. I’m actually losing money this week – and if I stay much longer, I will def get fired.

dairon@cirth.net: The label will pay you. What are you making at Cuivienen?

 **mightyvoice@gmail.com:** $11/hour + tips

dairon@cirth.net: hahahahha YEAH you should stay.

 **mightyvoice@gmail.com:** But

dairon@cirth.net: Shhhh no stop. You’ve gotta stop talking yourself out of this. You can stay with me as long as it takes, we can buy you new underwear or whatever if you’re worried about running out of clothes

 **mightyvoice@gmail.com:** Or we could do laundry

dairon@cirth.net: SEE THE POSSIBILITIES ARE ENDLESS

 **mightyvoice@gmail.com:** …okay let me talk to my brother and I’ll get back to you.

dairon@cirth.net: you’d be crazy to turn this down

 **mightyvoice@gmail.com:** I know.

dairon@cirth.net: Oh, and hey, we’re thinking we want a female vocalist on that song you and I worked on the other night. Is that Ria chick still around?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. By the time this story next updates, I will have leveled up a whole year! I've got good feelings about 26, guys.


	49. Don't you dare look back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just keep your eyes on me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Relationship talks happen. So do make outs.

“So how’s the famed merger of Blue Hills Distillery and Foundry Brewing going?” Lalwen tipped back in her chair, holding her coffee mug level to keep it from spilling.

Telchar propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin in one hand. “Do you mean, how is it going merging the tiny finances of my tiny company with the _negative_ finances of my cousin’s even tinier company?”

“Yes, that.”

“Can’t complain.” Telchar tapped her fingers against her cheek. “Literally. Can’t afford to, so I won’t. Thank god Azaghâl and I have always gotten along, otherwise being business partners might be tricky, and we don’t need any more tension at Shabbat dinners. Great uncle Durin is tense enough for all of us, god knows.” She shot a curious look across the table, where Caranthir was bent over a stack of papers, frowning deeply and muttering to himself, his dark brows drawn together as he made notes. “Any thoughts so far?” she asked hopefully.

“How have you gone this long without a real accountant? Your books are balls.”

Telchar winces. “That bad?”

“Terrible. And you’re overpaying your distributor.”

Telchar groaned. “I know it’s not ideal, but we really can’t afford a CPA, and neither of us quite has the talent or bandwidth to be meticulous with our accounts while simultaneously running a start-up.” She eyed him across the table suddenly, her brown eyes thoughtful and appraising. “Listen, we’re very small and still not profitable, so we couldn’t pay professional accountant fees – but you’ve got a good head for this. Do you have any interest in doing some work on our books? I might not be able to pay you as much as a CPA, but I promise it’ll be more than any campus job or waiting tables.”

“Ooh.” Lalwen sat up, looking interested. “Job offers happening at my kitchen table! See, living with me is full of good opportunities.”

“Huh.” Caranthir thought for a while, studying Telchar. She had her arms crossed as she leaned forward on the table, the dragon on her collarbones shifting with her movement. Caranthir found himself distracted by it, the flex and spread of its wings against her skin. He dragged his eyes upward again. “Yeah, I think I could do that.”

Telchar slapped the table, delighted, and Lalwen whooped. “That’s excellent news!”

“I want a contract, though,” said Caranthir firmly, “and I might have some demands. Okay, no, I definitely have demands.”

Lalwen groaned softly. “Moryo, quit while you’re ahead.”

“No, no.” Telchar waved a hand at Lalwen. “Demands are good! Don’t let me take advantage of you, get your full worth! That’s exactly the kind of thing I like to hear from someone I’m entrusting with my financial matters.” She reached across the table to clasp Caranthir’s hand. “This looks like the start of a beautiful relationship.”

“Guess so. So should I send you a list, or what?”

There was a tap on the door and Lalwen swung herself upright to get it. “Halloo? Who’s there? Which – Oh, hello, Ingo.” She stepped aside so that Caranthir could see past her to where Finrod was standing in the doorway. “Was I expecting you? Not that I’m sorry to see you, you know I collect nephews.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t let you know ahead of time,” said Finrod. “I heard that Carnistir was staying with you, and I was hoping to…” His eyes fell on Caranthir. “…talk to him.”

Lalwen glanced over her shoulder. “Does he want to talk to _you_ , though?”

Caranthir pushed himself up. “Yeah, whatever. It’s okay, I’ll talk to him.”

“Okay.” Lalwen stepped smartly aside and then grabbed Telchar, who was watching with interest, by the arm and tugged her into the other room. “We’ll just be…elsewhere, hm?”

Soon the kitchen was empty but for the two of them. They stayed standing, a distinct awkwardness between them, Finrod twisting his hands as he had that afternoon in Caranthir’s room, before seeming to force himself to drop them to his sides.

Caranthir regarded him. To his slight surprise, he didn’t feel much of anything but a faint resignation. “So. What now?”

“I wanted to say…” said Finrod, so softly that Caranthir could barely hear him.

“What?” Caranthir cocked his head, and Finrod drew himself up and shook his head, as if banishing his reluctance. He met Caranthir’s gaze straight on, and when he spoke, his voice was very clear.

“I’ve behaved terribly towards you, and I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, that.” Caranthir shrugged. “Whatever. You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“I do. I owe you an apology, Carnistir.”

Caranthir glanced towards the other room, which was suspiciously quiet. “Fine, you’ve apologized, then. I’m not pissed at you, Ingo. It was never gonna last, right, and I’m not broken up over that.”

“But your brother – ”

Now anger did rattle through Caranthir, and he narrowed his eyes. “The best way to keep me from _getting_ pissed is to not mention my fucking brother, okay?”

“Understood,” said Finrod softly.

“Is that all?” Caranthir made to turn away. “I’ll see you around, Findaráto.”

“Wait. There’s also something I need you to know.” Finrod reached out and laid his hands on Caranthir’s shoulders, pulling him around so they were face to face. Finrod looked him squarely in the eye. “I didn’t sneak around on you because I was bored with you, or because I didn’t find you attractive enough, or because I stopped liking you.”

“Sure.”

“I’m serious, Carnistir. I need you to know that you are someone I’ve always liked, and still like – and that you are _devastatingly_ hot and you are insanely good in bed. Mind-blowing, really.”

Caranthir felt his eyes bug out of his head as he goggled at Finrod, who wasn’t done. “And for the record, I’ve always found you hot. The first night we hooked up, it was partially because I’d been crushed out on you for ages.”

“ _Seriously_?”

“Seriously.” Finrod smiled crookedly. “I think we probably wouldn’t do terribly well as a couple – ”

“I don’t date guys.”

“ – that being a big part of it, but Carnistir, I really, really enjoyed spending time with you. It was a pleasure…in every sense.”

“Well.” Caranthir put his hands in his pockets and tried not to look surprised. “Thanks, I s’pose.”

Finrod hesitated, and Caranthir recognized the look as the one Finrod wore when there was more he wanted to say. This time, he didn’t make the mistake of nudging him impatiently to speak.

He waited.

“I’ll understand if you don’t want to see much of me anymore,” said Finrod at last. “I’m working on being more thoughtful of people’s wishes, and given the circumstances, I can understand you might not want to see me in certain contexts.” He paused again, and the specter of Caranthir’s younger brother hung between them, as clearly as if Curufin was leaning up against the table, arms folded, watching them with a smirk on his lips. Caranthir blinked, and shook Curufin’s presence away. “So I’m going to do my best to not put you in that situation.”

“Okay.”

Finrod took a deep breath and smiled wanly. “Thanks for letting me say my bit. I know you aren’t obligated to listen to a word I say, so I appreciate this – I’m not deluded enough not to realize my apology is as much for my conscience as it is for making right, so thank you for indulging me. Take care, Carnistir.”

He was halfway to the door when Caranthir unfolded himself from the counter and followed him. “Wait.” He reached out and caught Finrod’s shoulder. Finrod looked up at him. “Look, you acted like a toad, but I wasn’t exactly some stellar example either. I didn’t care that you were cheating on Amarië, and honestly, I was mostly  worried that when she broke up with you you’d try to turn me into your boyfriend and all I wanted was a fuckbuddy. I liked it _better_ when I knew you had a girlfriend, because it got me off the hook, and that doesn’t say a whole lot good about me. Anyway, I dunno if you should date anyone, given your track record, and I really don’t wanna talk about who you might be dating now, but…I had fun with you too. I don’t, like, regret it.” He took a breath, aware that this was far longer than he usually spoke. “D’you…d’you think it would be possible for us to still be friends?”

Finrod smiled, a genuinely happy and grateful smile, and it lit up his whole face. “I’d like that very much.”

“Mind you, I’m gonna stop selling you discounted weed.”

“I don’t think you’ve _ever_ made me pay for weed.”

“Right,” said Caranthir. “So expect some price shock.”

Finrod laughed, and on a whim, Caranthir leaned forward and kissed him. Finrod kissed him back, still smiling, and when they broke apart, Caranthir knew it was over – but his spirits were surprisingly light.

 

* * *

 

 

Even though it was the busiest time of year for his students, Finrod found his schedule unexpectedly open, and as he walked home from Lalwen’s apartment he lifted his face to the warm April sun, enjoying the breeze playing through his hair and the sight of tulips blooming along the sidewalk. All too soon he’d be burdened with piles of final exams to grade, but just now he’d turned in the most recent draft of his proposal and was just waiting to hear back from his advisor. He was therefore in the rare position of having to wait before he could do anything else.

However, just because schoolwork wasn’t taking over his list of to dos didn’t mean there weren’t other things he should deal with. One, at least, was behind him now, in Lalwen’s sunny kitchen, and he felt a mixed swoop of relief and melancholy to think that what he and Caranthir had had was well and truly over.

But there was one more call he needed to make. He pulled out his phone and dialed, crossing his fingers that the person he was calling had finally gotten a new phone.

-

An hour later, back at Bëor and Turgon’s place, Finrod opened the door and Curufin was standing there, effortlessly cool and unruffled, his dark peacoat buttoned all the way up despite the mild spring day. He looked as unflustered as he had sounded on the phone, when he’d answered brusquely and in barely more than monosyllables. _“What? Yes. Of course, how else would I have picked up? No. It’s an old one I found in my desk from a year ago. No, not at all, and it looks like hell. But it will do for now.”_ But his last monosyllables, at least, had borne out what Finrod had hoped for: _“Yes, fine. I’ll see you there.”_

And here he was.

Curufin looked appraisingly around the apartment as he stepped in, hands in his pockets, his sharp grey eyes taking everything in. “So this is where that union rep lives. I have to say I’m surprised Turukáno chose to live here of all places, considering his brother and father do battle with the unions on a regular basis.”

“Less battle than a careful diplomatic dance, I’d say,” said Finrod, closing the door behind him, and not saying, _not like when your father was in charge_. Curufin seemed to sense the unspoken addition, though, and narrowed his eyes at Finrod briefly.

“So. Neither of them are here, I suppose?”

“No, just us.”

Finrod had asked Bëor the night before, surprisingly embarrassed to do so _._

 

_“Would it be okay,” he’d said softly, not meeting Bëor’s eyes, “if I invited Curufin over here tomorrow? I truly don’t mean to overstep your hospitality, but I would really like to talk somewhere where neither of our siblings are likely to...intrude.”_

_“This gonna be a sex thing?” asked Bëor, eying Finrod._

_“No,” said Finrod, shaking his head. “No, for so many reasons. We really just need to talk. I can explain more later, but this is…” He trailed off, honestly unsure what he was trying to say._

_Bëor filled in his silence. “This is the kid you’re involved with. The kid you’re in l – ”_

_“Please don’t,” said Finrod, a trace of desperation in his voice. “I don’t know what we are yet, but I need to sort it out, I need to talk to him, and I need to start being better at this.” He broke off and stared down at the floor, suddenly wracked with anxiety. “I need to not ruin this. For once.”_

_Bëor's expression softened and he laid a large, comforting hand on Finrod's shoulder. “Best of luck then, Goldie. Lemme know if I can help, but yeah, go ahead. Invite your, ah, Curufin over tomorrow. Turno and I will be out all day.”_

_“Thank you.”_

 

Now Curufin was looking at him, a trace of wariness in his expression. “Well?”

“You can take off your coat, you know.” Finrod attempted a smile, and Curufin kept looking at him for a moment before unbuttoning his coat and shrugging it off his shoulders. He laid it over the back of a chair, and was about to fold his arms when Finrod reached out and took his hand. Curufin’s face went blank at the touch, and Finrod loosened his grip, giving Curufin the opportunity to pull away. He didn’t, though, and so Finrod tugged his hand lightly. “Let’s go sit down.”

Back in the room he'd been staying in, Finrod released Curufin’s hand and sat down on the futon Bëor kept in his spare room. Curufin remained standing though, his eyes glittering.

“Is this your new thing then?”

“My what?”

“Your new _kink_?” Curufin’s voice was scathing, and underlain with a trace of bravado that belied the tense way his hands clenched. “You can’t sneak around on Amarië anymore, or on _him_ , so you’re going to bring me to other people’s houses to hook up – ”

Finrod’s eyes widened. “No! No, Curvo, I promise that isn’t what this is about. I wanted to talk to you.”

“Talk to me? Ah, yes, I know what that means. Are we going to ‘have the talk’ now? Just tell me we can’t _possibly_ keep going, because without the sneaking and lying, oh, the fun’s just gone!”

“No,” said Finrod steadily. “I wanted to talk about the opposite, in fact.” He could see the uncertainty in Curufin’s stance, and for a moment Curufin’s thoughts were painted clearly across his face. _Are you just going to turn me into what he was? Because there is so much he did that I cannot, and if you ask it of me…_

Curufin dropped down on the futon beside Finrod, crossing his arms and legs and clenching his jaw. “The opposite?” He pulled a sneer back onto his face. “Playing coy doesn’t really become you, Findaráto, though I suppose – ”

Finrod didn’t blink at his biting tone, though, and simply reached out to smooth his fingers over Curufin’s hair, settling a stray lock. Curufin froze and stopped talking.

“I’m not interested in sneaking around anymore,” Finrod said quietly. “I’m not interested in burdening you with expectations, physical or otherwise – I’ve told you before I will only ever do what you’re comfortable with, and that still applies across the board. But here’s what I am interested in: I’m interested in being with you. Or at least,” he amended, “trying.”

Curufin stared at him. “Being with me?” Slowly his body started to unknot as he turned this over. “What does that mean? I’m not going to prioritize you over everything, if that’s what you think ‘being together’ means,” he said after a while. “My work has to come first, I don’t care if that’s not what one is supposed to say at times like these. And if this – if _you_ – start to get in the way of the things I need to do, I’m not going to dribble and fret over dropping you. I’ll just drop you.” He stared at Finrod challengingly, but Finrod seemed unfazed.

“That’s fine. And you should know that I don’t…have all the answers, or entirely know what I’m doing. With anything, really, even though I once thought I had it all sorted out. Everything’s a bit upside down for me right now. You already know that my history with relationships is murky at best, but what _I_ know is that I want to give this a try.”

“Wait,” said Curufin, who never asked anyone to slow down for him. “Who said anything about relationships? Is that what this is?”

“I hope it might be,” said Finrod, and he leaned forward, gently inquiring. And when Curufin lifted his head and leaned forward too, Finrod kissed him on the lips.

Presently, they settled back together, backs against the wall, knees pulled up as they sat side by side on the lumpy futon. Finrod put a light arm around Curufin’s shoulders, and Curufin allowed himself to lean into Finrod’s side. He let out a breath, and Finrod wrapped his fingers over Curufin’s shoulder.

“I don’t like most ‘relationship’ stuff,” said Curufin abruptly. “For the record. Cutesy dates to eat Italian food by candlelight – no way am I doing that. Also I hate going to movies. Also I don’t think stargazing is romantic – if we’re going to engage in astronomy, it should be about the science, not about necking on a picnic blanket – and I don’t like flowers or chocolate – ”

Finrod had been listening to this recitation attentively, arm warm around Curufin’s shoulders, and only now did he break in. “I promise not to force undue romance on you, but did you just say you didn’t like chocolate? You liar.”

Curufin made a face as Finrod ran his fingers teasingly through the hair at the back of his head. “Fine. I don’t want to be given, like, heart shaped boxes of chocolates. And no nougat.”

“I shall never give you a heart-shaped box of anything,” said Finrod gravely. “Or nougat.”

“And you heard me about the flowers, right?”

“I was pretending not to. This might be where we run into trouble, because there may be the occasional flower – no, shh, this is non-negotiable, because see, I really like flowers.”

“NO, that’s foul and tacky, I refuse, I’m out – ”

Finrod leaned forward again and kissed Curufin, stifling his vehement objections. Curufin made a brief, outraged noise, and then knotted his fingers in Finrod’s shirt and pulled him closer.

“Fine,” he whispered, when they broke apart. “But you should know I won’t make other concessions so easily.”

“I would expect nothing less,” said Finrod, and kissed him again before letting him go.

 

* * *

 

 

The three of them burst through the door to Daeron’s apartment, laughing immoderately and tripping over each other as they tried to crowd through the doorway at the same time.

“What did I say?” cried Daeron, swinging the half drunk bottle of red wine they’d picked up at the bodega at the end of the block. “Am I genius for pulling you two in or what?”

“Sure, take all the credit.” Ríanellë pulled her hair from its ponytail and took a long drink from her own bottle. “Oh my god, this shit is like vinegar.”

“That’s what we get for buying $5 wine,” Maglor pointed out, but he was grinning as he drank from the third bottle. “And Dai, shut up, stop being so smug.”

“Never!” Daeron danced over to the stereo and dropped a record onto the turntable with aplomb. “Seriously, was that riff on the third track inspired or what?”

“That was Maglor’s idea.” Ríanellë shook her hair out of her eyes, her skin flushed from the wine and excitement. “Whew. This hits you quick on an empty stomach, doesn’t it? Maglor threw in that riff – I think it was improvised, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Maglor dropped down on the couch as loud music filled the apartment.

“Right, that’s what I was saying. My buddy’s inspired.” Daeron passed behind the couch and pulled Maglor’s ponytail as he went. “Gawd, I’m not letting you go anywhere, you’re going to help me make this album _kill_.”

“Hear, hear.” Ríanellë raised her bottle in a toast as she started to sway to the music. “I could have kicked myself, though, first legit studio time and I didn’t have a single instrument with me, I can’t believe it.”

“We’ll get you any instrument you want,” said Daeron, spinning her around as she kicked off her shoes and danced in her stocking’ed feet. “I’ll get you a fuckin’ tuba if you want it, if you keep bringing that voice of yours – and Mags says you write, too?”

“Mostly pig songs,” said Ríanellë, and as Daeron squinted at her, she twirled across the room. “ _Ohhh he’s a lying, flying porker, see how his snout grows_ \- !”

“You two are _drunk_ ,” said Daeron, laughing again as Maglor joined in the chorus and also in the dancing, tipping himself up from the couch to spin like a dervish next to Ríanellë. “What is so goddamned funny?”

“Pigs!” they both shouted at him, and, "We'll teach it to you, but you gotta be drunker," said Maglor.  

Daeron tipped another eighth of the bottle down his throat obligingly.

Soon what was left of the wine was splashed across Daeron’s wood floors – Ríanellë had attempted to execute a pirouette and had dropped her almost empty bottle in the process – and Maglor had fallen back to the couch, winded as the room spun hazily around him. He felt warm and happy, his face aching from smiling, his throat raw from a day of singing and an evening of laughing too hard at things that seemed hilarious at the time.

Ríanellë had put on another album and was sliding across the floor in her socks, almost tumbling over as she slid headlong into Daeron, who grabbed her just in time to keep her from falling.

“Whoa there.”

“Why, thank you, kind sir,” said Ríanellë primly, and locked her arms around Daeron’s neck to keep herself upright. “Ooh, I love this song!”

“That’s the sound of the needle skipping,” said Daeron, “at least, I think so.” He paused, blinking thoughtfully. “But who are we to say what is or isn’t music?”

“Aw, shut up, you fuckin’ hipster,” said Ríanellë, and slipped again. “I can see why you two are friends.” Daeron laughed, pulling her up against him, and as she lifted her head to him, their mouths met.

Maglor had been watching lazily from the couch, content to watch and let the noise crash over him, content to watch his friends dance and joke, but at the sight of Ríanellë’s arms around Daeron’s neck, her eyes closing as he kissed her, Maglor’s stomach went suddenly cold, something sharp and painful clanging through the wine-warm haze.

Bu then Ríanellë broke the kiss, laughing, and fell back against the couch. “Oh _, lord_.” She slid over the back of the couch, landing in Maglor’s lap, and snuggled back against him. “How bad am I at this?”

“You’re pretty good, as far as I can tell,” said Daeron, grinning and plopping down on the couch next to them.

Ríanellë hummed and nuzzled at Maglor’s chin, as Daeron leaned forward and pressed another kiss to her bare arm, her shirt half slipping off her shoulder. Unsure, Maglor tilted his head to catch Ríanellë’s lips in a kiss, and the chill in his stomach started to subside as he felt Daeron’s warm hands brush lightly over his hips before he bent down to keep kissing Ríanellë’s neck.

 _Oh_ , thought Maglor.  _Oh, okay._

And then,  _Okay,_ yeah _._

The three of them curled together on the couch, kissing and touching unhurriedly, without urgency or awkwardness, something clicking into place as easily as it had in the studio when their voices had come together with such little effort. Maglor stretched out with his back against the arm of the couch, Ríanellë settling warm between his legs, Daeron sprawling against both their sides, their legs hopelessly tangled. Someone was crushing his arm, their lips were all stained with wine, and they kept getting the giggles in turns, until Daeron had to pull away from kissing Ríanellë to stifle his laughter into Maglor's chest. Ríanellë’s hair was in Maglor’s mouth, there were too many couch cushions to maneuver properly, and his shirt was hiked up to his chest, but Maglor felt oddly elated. There was still a shiver in his stomach, but it felt like anticipation now, instead of dread, the same shiver of excitement and premonition he got before he went onstage, or stepped into the recording booth. A bit of fear, but an intoxicating fear, and the sense of  _This will either go very well, or very badly, but there's no way I'm turning back now._

_Okay, yeah._

“C’mon,” murmured Daeron at last. “Couch’s too small.” He pushed himself to his feet, his hair a hopeless tangle, his shirt gone some time ago, and held out a hand. Ríanellë let herself be pulled up, tucking herself under his arm as he stretched out his other hand to Maglor. Maglor took it, and Daeron pulled him up with a broad, genuine smile, brushing a quick, messy kiss to Maglor’s cheek. Then he turned, still holding both of them by hand, and led them to the bedroom.

The door clicked shut behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. This chapter sponsored by [Shut Up and Dance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nbcCG7PkI18), which I have decided is the theme song of the trio of hipsters at its close.


	50. But your taste is so inviting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now I'm living in a dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. For everyone who was disappointed I did a fade to grey at the end of the last chapter…this opening scene should perk you up. (Warnings for graphic m/f/m sex, deeply nsfw, explicit descriptions…you get the picture.) Also, for the many, many people who have expressed a longing for a certain redhead and his ~~cousin~~ ~~husband~~ boyfriend, I have written a scene just for you. Because I am a pushover (and I miss them too.)

Maglor woke with the dull, nauseous headache that screamed ‘bottle of cheap red wine’. He also noticed that his left arm was entirely asleep and he shifted uncomfortably, only to realize that the reason his arm was numb was because it was laid under Ríanellë. More specifically, Ríanellë’s bare shoulders. Ríanellë herself being fast asleep and naked and curled against his side. Maglor blinked, trying to get his brain to catch up to his eyes. His gaze traveled across Ríanellë’s body to the hand that was resting on her bare hip. His gaze traveled up the arm to its owner: Daeron, also asleep, his hair messy and in his face, his legs tangled with Ríanellë’s.

Flashes of the night started coming back to him.

 _Oh._ Right _._

Ríanellë struggling to get out of her bra, laughing helplessly as both Maglor and Daeron tried to help and only made matters worse.

Maglor, oddly hypnotized by the tattoo on Daeron’s bare shoulder blade, tracing his fingers over it as the muscles of Daeron’s back shifted under his touch.

The taste of Ríanellë’s salt.

The callouses on Daeron’s hands.

_Oh, my god._

Maglor’s cramping arm spasmed, and he twitched involuntarily, causing Ríanellë to roll away from him and into Daeron, who wrapped his arm around her and tucked his face against her hair.

Maglor sat bolt upright, with a dizzy lurch of his stomach, and Daeron opened his eyes blearily. “Ungh. What time is it?”

“I don’t know,” said Maglor, and winced. Talking _hurt_.

“Shh,” murmured Ríanellë, into Daeron’s chest.  “ ‘S too early to talk ‘bout how early it is.”

“It’s light out though,” said Maglor pointlessly.

“Lie back down,” said Ríanellë, and she reached up to tug him down into a tangle with her and Daeron. Uncertain, Maglor settled his chin against her shoulder and put a cautious arm around her waist. His arm brushed Daeron’s as he did so, but instead of flinching away, Daeron simply reached out and pulled both of them closer, his hand wrapping around Maglor’s hip. Maglor, pressed close to Ríanellë’s back and the soft, tempting curve of her ass, felt himself stir, despite the queasy pound of his hangover. Ríanellë wriggled back against him, a smile curving the corners of her lips, and Daeron made a noise of approval. He leaned forward to kiss her, and the arm he had laid across both of them traveled lazily up Maglor’s side. Maglor felt his skin prickle anticipatorily at Daeron’s touch, and he tightened his arms around Ríanellë, enjoying the experience of feeling her responses without the fog of alcohol that had shrouded him the night before.

Maglor buried his face in Ríanellë’s shoulder, lips finding her neck, and he couldn’t keep from grinding forward against her. He slid a hand around her waist and down the softness of her belly to the warm thicket between her legs. His fingers dipped between her lips, feeling her wetness, and she moaned softly against Daeron’s mouth, spreading her knees apart so Maglor could reach deeper. Daeron broke away to grab something from the side of the bed, and passed it over to Maglor. Maglor leaned away long enough to put on the condom Daeron had given him, and then fit himself along Ríanellë’s back again.

“Is this okay?” he whispered into her ear. Daeron was watching avidly, his own hand taking the place of Maglor’s between Ríanellë’s legs as he bent down to kiss her small breasts.

“Yes.” Ríanellë smiled, and closed her eyes, tipping her head back on Maglor’s shoulder while he slid between her thighs from behind. “So okay. So good, _oh_ – ”

Daeron parted his lips around Ríanellë’s breast, his hand moving lower, and Maglor couldn’t hold back a moan as Daeron’s fingers reached the place where their bodies joined.

“Holy shit,” Daeron whispered. “Holy shit, that’s hot.” He was hard too, pressing forward against Ríanellë’s thigh, and she wrapped a hand around him as he raised his head to kiss her neck. This put him and Maglor very close together when he raised his head. Their eyes met for a moment, and then Daeron, pressing forward into Ríanellë’s hand as Maglor moved into her from behind, closed the distance between them and kissed Maglor, very lightly.

Maglor didn’t think they’d done this last night – or if they had, it had been too hazed with wine and laughter for him to absorb it. Even now it was almost too odd, too ridiculous, and they kissed only chastely over Ríanellë’s shoulder as she gave a pleased murmur and a half-laugh of delight. Then Daeron wound a hand into Maglor’s hair and pulled him closer, and Maglor’s lips parted almost involuntarily to allow Daeron’s tongue against his. He hadn’t expected to react like this; even less had he expected to moan softly and reach out to clench a hand in Daeron’s hair in turn.

Ríanellë gasped as Maglor thrust into her, both of them reacting to Daeron’s hand still exploring the place where they joined. “Oh – oh, fuck, you two are so hot.”

Maglor and Daeron broke apart, both a little flushed and embarrassed, and Daeron quickly covered Ríanellë’s mouth with his own, grinding his hips against hers. Maglor pressed his lips to Ríanellë’s shoulder and tightened his grip on her waist, his breath coming quicker as he felt her clench down around him.

This he remembered from the night before, the wild fall towards orgasm, the odd and arousing and self-conscious awareness of _My best friend is going to watch me come – and I’m watching him._ It was overpowered, though, by the way Ríanellë cried out and twisted in his arms, simultaneously bucking against Daeron’s hand and pressing back against Maglor’s hips. Her shining black hair fell across her face, her lips kiss-bruised and her cheeks flushed, and Maglor felt winded by how beautiful she was – and she was _in his arms_ , he was _inside her_ – and when she came, he was right with her, while Daeron whispered, “Damn, damn, goddamn, you are _amazing_.”

Maglor didn’t know if he meant Ríanellë, or Maglor, or both of them together, but he didn’t care as he dragged Daeron forward into one last kiss.

 

* * *

  

It was midafternoon before they stirred again. Maglor curled up, yawning, his head in Ríanellë’s lap as she sat up in bed and checked her phone. Daeron rolled out of bed, groaning, and shuffled out of the room. There was a moment of silence, while Maglor drowsed and Ríanellë tapped busily at her phone, broken by Daeron’s voice.

“Why is the floor so _sticky_ – Ría, you motherfucker, this is your fault!”

Ríanellë winced. “Oops.”

“Spilled wine?” mumbled Maglor, eyes still closed.

“Yeah, probably. I don’t know what you’re talking about!” called Ríanellë, louder. “Dai, you were so shwasted last night, you don’t remember who – ”

“Save it, sweetheart, I remember you dropping the bottle.”

“Damn it.”

“Rule of party fouls,” said Daeron, reappearing in the doorway. “She who dropped it, mops it.”

Ríanellë made a doleful face. Maglor, rolling over so he could look up at her, gave a snort of laughter. “What are you doing with your mouth?”

“I’m pouting!”

“You look like – What was that dinosaur from _Land Before Time_?”

“Ducky!” Daeron started to laugh too. “Bro, you cannot pull off pouting.”

Ríanellë slid her legs out from under Maglor’s head and got up. She was wearing an overlarge tee-shirt that belonged to one of them – Maglor wasn’t sure who – and she crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m naked in your bed and you’re calling me _bro_?”

“You’re not naked,” said Maglor, reasonably, stretching out full length in the vacated bed and reveling in being able to spread out. “You’re in my shirt.”

“My shirt, actually,” interjected Daeron. “So yeah, I think I can call you bro. Now come mop up the wine you spilled all over my floor last night, Ducky.”

Grumbling, Ríanellë slouched after him.

While she cleaned and sang some of the songs from their recording session under her breath, the smell of coffee filled the air as Daeron brewed a pot. Soon he came back into the bedroom with two mugs, one of which he handed to Maglor before sliding into bed next to him.

“I’ve got the shittiest headache,” he said, closing his eyes and slumping low on the pillows as he nursed his coffee. “This is definitely a day not to move if at all possible.”

“Agreed,” said Maglor, shooting a sidelong glance at him. Daeron settled back comfortably and their shoulders pressed together. Maglor didn’t say anything else, but drank his coffee gratefully.

Shortly thereafter, Ríanellë came back in, dragging the mop behind her and looking bedraggled. “That was gross,” she announced, and tipped the mop against the wall. “Scoot over and give me some of your coffee.” She crawled into bed between them, and they both recoiled.

“Ack! You’re all wet!”

“And sticky, _damn_ , and you smell weird.”

“How dare you,” said Ríanellë, grabbing for the blankets, but Daeron kicked them out of her reach.

“You smell like mopwater and stale wine,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “Uh uh, outta the bed until you take a shower.”

“You are such an asshole,” said Ríanellë, reaching for the blankets once more. This time Daeron blocked her with his legs and Maglor grabbed her around the waist and pulled her half across his lap.

“I agree with Dai,” he said. “Shower, for sure.”

“Traitor,” said Ríanellë indignantly, “I’ll bite you, you know.” Maglor didn’t let go, though, and Daeron sat up, grinning.

“Keep ahold of her, Mags, we can carry her to the bathroom.”

“No,” said Ríanellë warningly, as Maglor’s arm tightened around her waist. “No, don’t you dare pick me up – Maglor, I swear, I will crush you, I think I have ten pounds on you – Oh my god, noooo.”

Maglor had managed to get to his feet, somewhat ungainly, and made to heft Ríanellë over his shoulder, but she elbowed him in the face. “Ouch. Dai, grab her legs!”

Daeron scooped up Ríanellë’s legs while Maglor grabbed her under the arms, and they carried her, laughing and protesting, to the shower. Unable to let her go, Maglor and Daeron stepped into the shower stall with her, and Daeron turned on the water. They finally set her down as the water drenched them all, and realized, belatedly, that all of them were wearing clothes of some variety.

“Augh, turn the water hotter,” begged Maglor, stepping close to Ríanellë and huddling against her as the water cascaded over him.

Daeron complied, shaking his wet hair out of his eyes, and Ríanellë laughed evilly. “At least you motherfuckers have to get wet with me. And MY clothes are all dry since, as you pointed out, I am not in my own shirt.”

“Silence, wench,” said Daeron, upending shampoo over her head.

She retaliated, spitting a stream of water into his eyes, and Maglor groaned and slumped against the shower wall. “How are you two so energetic? I’m still hungover as fuck.”

“Can’t keep up with the big kids?” Daeron grinned at him through the steam now rising in clouds from the water.

“I know what’ll rouse him,” said Ríanellë, wiping lather from her hair and dabbing it thoughtfully onto Maglor’s nose. “You remember what we taught you last night, Dai?”

“Hell yes.”

Their voices rose together in soaring – and deafening – harmony. “OHHHHHH he’s a LYING flying PORKER, HO HO HO – ”

Maglor moaned piteously and slid to the floor of the shower, where he buried his head in his arms and let the water sluice over him. “I hate you both. So much.”

But he joined in for the chorus, anyway.

 

* * *

  

Fingon plopped the bowl of soup down in front of Maedhros as Maedhros frowned at the overlarge book in front of him.

“Take a break from studying for a hot second, Mae.”

“But I’m trying to relearn middle school math. Did you know they call it ‘growth rate’ instead of ‘slope’ now?”

“Were I lesser man, I’d make a joke about that. Look, it’s hot soup, it’ll feel good in your tummy.”

“And these formulae are different than from when I – ” Maedhros paused as the smell of broth wafted over him. “Hm. Soup. Are you mothering me?”

“No.”

“You _are_.”

“Eat, you nerd-ass motherfucker.”

“See, the mistake you make is assuming that’s _not_ something my mother would say,” said Maedhros, but he put his book down and picked up the spoon Fingon was holding over his shoulder. “What kind is it?”

“Matzo ball,” said Fingon, sliding into a chair next to him, and propping his chin on his hands to study Maedhros. His quick glance took in the shadows under Maedhros’ eyes and the limpness of his hair. “Babe, you need to shower and sleep once you’re done with that.”

“Mothering me,” said Maedhros, and scooped up a matzo ball. “Mothering me something fierce, you are. Wasn’t Passover last month?”

“I don’t need a holiday to make matzo ball soup, I just need an overwhelmed boyfriend and a cold rainy day to inspire me.”

“I’m going to be eating this a lot then, aren’t I?” Maedhros slurped gratefully at the broth. “Mmm. What did I do to deserve being served nourishing soup by a gorgeous man who keeps me from falling over dead from stress?”

“Something terrible, probably,” said Fingon, stretching his arms out and laying his head on the table.

Maedhros looked at him, and something Maglor had said flashed through his mind. “You look tired yourself. Maybe we should both be sleeping more… You’ve been working late again.”

“ ‘Tis the life I signed up for, apparently – or rather, that you kind of signed me up for, you weasel. No, sh, don’t worry about it, I’m surviving.”

“I _have_ said I was sorry about that. And I don’t know where you get off calling me out on my sleep habits, your eye bags are just as impressive as my eye bags.”

“It’s probably just that phenomenon, you know, where people grow to look like their dogs after they’ve lived with them a while.”

“Wait, which of us is the dog and which – No, I don’t actually want to know.” Maedhros bit into a matzo ball and closed his eyes in momentary bliss. “Okay, this is delicious. Is it your grandmother’s recipe?”

“Bubbe’s? Naw, it’s mom’s. I called her up for advice, and she said to buy the box and follow the instructions _exactly_ and then I’d have her award-winning recipe.”

Maedhros contemplated this, then held out his spoon. “Here, have a matzo ball.”

“Mmm. Too tired.”

“And you say I’m bad.” Maedhros cocked his head and smiled coaxingly at Fingon. “Help me finish the soup, and then I’ll take a break from studying and we can both go take a nap.”

“We’re going to shower first,” said Fingon, accepting Maedhros’ spoon. “And there may be shower blowjobs, if either of us can stay awake long enough.”

“I must be getting old,” said Maedhros, as he and Fingon passed the spoon back forth, making quick work of the soup. “Because shower blowjobs sound _exhausting_.”

“We could just sort of slump against each other and do soapy handjobs instead.” Fingon pushed himself under Maedhros’ arm and leaned against his side, nudging him over so they both fit side by side on the chair. “Or we could just shower, fall into bed, pass out and _dream_ about fucking each other vigorously.”

Maedhros let the spoon fall back into the empty bowl and wrapped his arms around Fingon, burying his nose in his hair. “Maybe we’re both getting old.”

“Maybe this is what being boring old marrieds is like.”

Maedhros felt a sudden leap of warmth that had nothing to do with the hot soup. “Finno?”

“M'yes?”

“If this is what getting old with you is going to be like, it can’t come soon enough.”

Fingon pulled himself into Maedhros’ lap and draped his arms around his neck to kiss him thoroughly, until shower blowjobs, or vigorous sex, didn’t seem quite so out of the question to Maedhros anymore. “Good,” said Fingon finally, breaking away and tucking his face against Maedhros’ neck. “Because I shit you not, Mae, I found a grey hair this morning.”

 

* * *

  

“Hey!” Maedhros’ voice sounded cheerful, if exhausted, and Maglor smiled, settling his back against the bench where he’d chosen to establish himself for his call home. There were evening joggers running through the park, some homeless people settling in for the night, and a teenage couple holding hands on the bench opposite, but no one was paying Maglor any attention at all. “God, it’s been so long I think I’ve forgotten what you look like. You’re short and fat and blond, right?”

“That’s me. But you, you I remember exactly what you look like. How’s the third arm? And the beard?”

“Prodigious. Az is jealous of it.”

Maglor laughed. “Aah, I miss you.”

“I miss you too, little brother. But you’re getting your big break, right? I can’t begrudge you that.”

“I guess not.”

“How’s it going?”

“You mean the recording?”

“Yes, of course.”

“It’s going…fine.”

“That’s all you’re going to give me? No details? Come on, lay it on me, tell me everything! What’s new and exciting?”

Maglor took a deep breath. “New and exciting? Well…”

“Hang on.” Maedhros’ voice grew briefly distant and slightly scratchier. “I’m putting you on speaker phone, ‘k?”

Maglor shut his mouth with a snap. “Why?”

“Because Tyelko and Moryo are over here and they want to hear too, of course.”

Maglor closed his eyes and let his head drop back against the bench. “Oh.” He wanted to hear from his brothers, of course he did, Caranthir in particular, but the one he wanted to talk to right now was Maedhros, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for anyone else to hear what he had to tell. “Did they come over just for the excitement of the phone call?”

“Of course not,” came Celegorm’s voice, crackly but loud through the speaker. “Nelyo promised to cook for us if we came over, so that’s the real appeal. Sorry, bro.”

“Is Curvo there too?”

There was a pregnant pause. “Naw,” said Celegorm finally. “He had homework.”

There was a sound like someone coming into the room and Maedhros called, a little too jovially, “Moryo! Come over, Káno’s on the phone.”

“Seriously? We’re doing this like a conference call?” Caranthir’s voice was faint but got louder as he apparently approached the phone. “This is a lousy system.”

“The sound quality’s not great,” said Maglor, wincing as someone turned on a tap on the other end and roaring static filled his ear. There was a fumbling noise, and then Caranthir’s voice came through clearly.

“Nelyo’s looking frustrated now, whoops.”

Maglor sighed. “Am I still on speakerphone?”

“Yeah, but I’ve picked you up from the counter – Tyelko, don’t run the garbage disposal, you dumb bitch.”

“Watch it or I’ll put your _face_ in the garbage disposal, you hobag.”

Maglor buried his face in his hand. “I’m feeling less homesick now. You can tell Nelyo that part of his plan was successful anyway.”

“So you’re recording with Daeron? How is it working with that pompous dickhead?”

“Hey,” protested Maglor. “He’s my best friend, and he’s not a dickhead.”

“You don’t deny he’s pompous, though.”

“Maybe not. But it’s going really well, actually.” Maglor tapped at his lips. “We’ve been recording a lot but we’ve also been writing some new stuff, too, which is really exciting – well, me and Ría are doing the writing, mostly.”

“I hope it’s better than that poem she has on her wrist.” Maedhros’ voice floated in; he must have been listening despite the muffled chaos on the other end.

“You actually noticed that?”

“Sure.”

“I did too. I saw it that first night we met her, remember? Thought the whole pig thing was weird as fuck but I wrote it off as her being another wacko hipster like you.”

“ _I_ only just noticed it on our drive down.”

“Seriously?” Maedhros and Caranthir had spoken simultaneously. “You spent that night with her this winter and you didn’t notice her tattoo?”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” muttered Maglor. “So I’m not the most observant, big deal. And for the record, she’s a killer songwriter and there hasn’t been a single pig mention so far.”

“What are you living on?” Caranthir asked curiously. “How long will Cuiviénen hold your position?”

“Negative three days. My manager called me a few days ago and let me know they were bringing in someone new since I’d been gone so long. I could probably convince them to rehire me if I came back – ”

“If?” It was Maedhros.

“When, I mean,” amended Maglor quickly. “But yeah, no job right now, just living on my savings, but at least staying at Daeron’s is free for the time being.”

“Aren’t they paying you for the studio time?”

Maglor hesitated. “Yes? Kind of. In theory?”

Celegorm snorted. “You should see Moryo’s face right now. It says ‘there should be no theories when it comes to getting paid, you flaming innocent’.”

“There shouldn’t!” Caranthir’s voice was loud. “What do you mean ‘yes’ _question mark_? What do you mean by ‘kind of’?”

“I mean, Daeron said they’d pay me, and – ”

Caranthir sighed so loudly Maglor held the phone away from his ear. “Get a contract,” he said sharply. “Get them to draft a contract before you play ANY MORE for them, and then send it to me first thing – don’t you DARE sign anything until I look at it. Christ, Káno, aren’t you going to ever look out for yourself?”

Maglor smiled. “Why, when I have you to do it for me?”

“Awww,” said Celegorm. “How fuckin’ cute is that? Moryo, how come you aren’t working on getting _me_ the money I’m due?”

“Unless that sugar daddy of yours is supposed to be paying you, I don’t think you’re _worth_ any money – ”

“All right,” broke in Maedhros. “Moryo, shut up. Tyelko, put that down.”

There was more fumbling and static, and Maglor held the phone away from his ear, grimacing, until Maedhros’ voice came through clearly and he could tell he’d been taken off speakerphone.

“Sorry about that,” Maedhros said ruefully. “I thought it would be nice for all of us to say hi, but as always, I overestimated our ability to do, well, anything without chaos.”

“It’s fine, I know how it is. I appreciate the thought.”

“I should probably go soon, dinner’s cooking faster than I thought it would.” There was regret in Maedhros’ voice. “I really do want to catch up with you – but you’re doing okay, right? You’d tell me if anything was wrong?”

“Of course I would. No, everything’s fine. I’d like to talk more in depth sometime soon, if we can, but you should go eat now.” Maglor didn’t let the disappointment into his voice, but he could tell that Maedhros sensed it anyway.

“I’ll call tomorrow and we can have a real talk,” he said quietly. “I don’t have work until 2:30, and I can take a break from studying to give you a call.”

“What are you studying for?” Maglor asked, feeling hopelessly out of the loop.

“Didn’t I tell – oh, shit, that was in that email I never sent you.” Maedhros sighed. “I’ll fill you in tomorrow, I swear. But we love you, Káno – ”

“Love you like a love song,” said Celegorm loudly, in the background. “LOVE YOU LIKE A ROCK.”

“What does that even mean? You jackass.”

“Tell your brother you love him, you little pisser.”

“He knows it, fuck off.”

“I love you guys too,” said Maglor, smiling despite himself.

Maedhros’ quiet voice cut through again. “Take care of yourself, Makalaurë.  I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Maglor hung up and leaned back on the bench, closing his eyes. Tomorrow seemed a very long time to wait.

 


	51. Time for a new faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The house at 1495 Mithrim Lake may be less inhabited than usual, but there are plenty of visitors to keep things from getting too quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Warnings for light drunkenness, mildly self-destructive behavior, and discussion of relationship insecurity.

There was someone knocking insistently on his door.

Celegorm sat up, shaking his hair out of his eyes and blinking sleepily. “Hmwh?”

The knocking persisted.

Celegorm groaned. “Curvo, I swear to fuck you couldn’t have heard any noise, we were _sleeping_.”

On the bed, where he’d drifted off with Celegorm sprawled against his chest, Oromë stirred and pushed himself upright. “What’s going on?”

“My little brother is being a freak, probably.” Celegorm put his elbows on his knees and dragged his hands over his face. “Jesus, Curvo, calm down, I’m coming!”

He cast around for a shirt while Oromë sat up and tied his hair back in a knot. “I should probably go. I know he’s not comfortable with me being over here.”

“No, you’re fine, he’s just being – ” Celegorm yanked the door open finally, and did a double take. “Wh – You’re not Curvo.”

“I always knew you were a smart one.” Aredhel pushed past him and bee-lined for the corner of the room. “Observant. Sharp. ‘S what’ve always liked about you, kid.”

Celegorm swiveled to watch her trajectory. “Umm, Irissë – ”

“Oh, hey Coach Aldaron,” said Aredhel, passing Oromë on the bed. She flung herself down in the dog bed in the corner, and wrapped herself around Huan, who sniffed curiously at her hair. “Don’t mind me,” she said, muffled into the dog’s fur. “Carry on.”

“Riiight.” Celegorm closed the door and shot an apologetic look at Oromë. He crossed the room and crouched down in front of Aredhel as Oromë began discreetly hunting for the rest of his clothes. “Girl, what’s going on?”

“I needed a therapy animal.”

“Well, you know I’m always happy to be your therapy animal, but – ”

“I meant Huan.”

“Don’t you have that cat thing? Can’t it be therapeutic?”

“Lómion’s going through a biting phase,” said Aredhel, still not raising her head from Huan’s neck. “I’m giving him some space until he learns that I can only open cans if I have all my fingers.”

“Uh huh. So are you gonna tell me why you need to be therapized right now?”

“Nope. It’s okay. Just give me 15 minutes with your dog and I’ll be fine.” Aredhel peered out from between Huan’s ears. Oromë was fully dressed now, leaning down to grab his shoes, and watching her with a mixture of curiosity and concern. Aredhel gave him a small wave. “Is it crazy that we haven’t met officially yet? It is, right? I think I met you once after one of Tyelko’s games, though obviously I didn’t know you were…y’know. Is that weird to say now? Do we pretend that you guys weren’t fucking back then? What’s the protocol on this?”

Celegorm groaned. “God, you sometimes have as much of a motor mouth as I do.” He glanced back at Oromë, who looked like he was trying not to laugh despite a certain amount of discomfort.

Aredhel laid her head on Huan’s. “I feel like we should have met already. Why haven’t you introduced us? We probably have a lot in common. I mean, just one example, off the top of my head, we’ve both fucked you.”

“Jesus Christ.” Celegorm raised his eyes heavenward, then leaned forward and sniffed. “Ireth, have you been drinking?”

“We probably both know that face you make when you’re about to – ”

“I think this is my cue to leave,” said Oromë hastily. He got up and Celegorm stood too, a wordless question in his stance. Oromë cupped Celegorm’s face in one hand briefly as he said, “Come over to my place, tomorrow night?”

“Yeah.” Celegorm leaned forward, and Oromë kissed him. Celegorm wrapped his arms around Oromë’s neck. “How do you feel about me just staying for the whole weekend?”

“If you feel comfortable being away from home, and your brother, for that long…”

“Yeah, no prob, me and Curvo could use some space.”

“Hum,” said Aredhel, from her corner. “That’s new.” Celegorm and Oromë both looked over, having momentarily forgotten her. “Whups. Don’t let me interrupt.”

“I’ll be going,” said Oromë, though he was clearly reluctant to let go of Celegorm, who had unwound his arms from Oromë’s neck. He nodded to Aredhel. “I hope we can be introduced ‘officially’ sometime soon, under more prepossessing circumstances.”

“Yep yep yep,” said Aredhel. “F’sure.”

“All right, she’s pretty fucked up,” said Celegorm, scrutinizing Aredhel, and touched Oromë’s arm lightly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, baby.”

“Until tomorrow.” Oromë kissed Celegorm once more and then slipped out the door, closing it quietly behind him.

Celegorm let out a long sigh and squatted down next to Aredhel again. “Hell of a timing you got, sister.”

“That’s me. Cockblock central.” Aredhel looked up at him, and he was shocked to see her eyes fill suddenly with tears despite her glib words.

“Oh, hey, no…”

“ ‘M sorry, Tyelko. I didn’t mean to bust up your time with your person. I didn’t mean to jus’ tromp in and blow your evening and scare off your boyfriend, and I know you two deserve time together, and,” she swallowed, and started to cry in earnest. “It’s important to spend time with your person…”

“Aw, no, baby girl, c’mere, shh.” Celegorm immediately wrapped an arm around Aredhel and slotted his back against the wall to pull her against him. “Shh, it’s okay, right? Not a big deal. Me ‘n’ Oromë get plenty of time together these days, way better than it used to be. I’m good, I’m a big kid, I can manage a whole evening without my man and with my best girl, huh?” Aredhel buried her face in his shoulder and he stroked her hair. “You wanna tell me what’s up?”

“Elenwë,” Aredhel whispered.

“Oh, shit.” Celegorm’s hand stilled on her hair. “What. What happened? Something bad?”

“She’s…” Aredhel’s breath stuttered again and she let out a little sob. “She’s graduating.”

“Oh.” Celegorm frowned. “That’s it? Babe, that’s what happens at the end of college. Even you and me pulled it off. What’s so bad about her graduating?”

“Nothing!” Aredhel cried harder into Celegorm’s shirt. “Nothing, I’m so proud of her. Did you know she’s graduating summa cum laude? And she’s an engineer, too! That’s much harder than Turno graduating summa from liberal arts. Don’t tell him I said that. She is so amazing, and brilliant, and she’s – she’s got this crazy good summer internship, Tyelko. In Chicago.”

“Oh.” Celegorm let out a breath and pressed a kiss to the top of Aredhel’s head. “So that’s what this is about. Yeah, going a couple months long distance is gonna be rough, but you two are – ”

“She doesn’t think it’ll be a problem,” whispered Aredhel. “But I’ve been out of school a year and I’m still just working for my mom part time and have no real job or any idea what I wanna do, like the further I get from graduation the _less_ I know what I want, and she’s gonna go to Chicago and be brilliant and realize that it’s not actually that hard being away from me, and why would she want to be with me anyway, I’m just this pathetic bitch who barely graduated college and has no prospects and can barely be a secretary and who is so…so…fucked _up_ …” She sobbed again, and dug her fingers into her hair. “And then I’m gonna be alone again, Tyelko, I’m gonna be alone, and it’s gonna be so much harder this time, because I know what it’s like to have someone now, for real, and I love her so much, I’ve never done that before, and I don’t think I can go back, and…and I’m being _weird_ to her, and I keep losing my temper, and I’m so scared, I’m so scared...”

“Ahh, Ireth, Ireth, hey now, baby girl, hey.” Celegorm wrapped his arms around Aredhel and held her tight against his chest. “First of all, you’re never gonna be alone, right? You’re always gonna have me, prob’ly whether you like it or not. And second, you’re not gonna lose Elenwë. She loves you, she loves you like crazy. You guys can get through a summer, no prob. Yeah, she’s gonna be doing work and shit, but you’ll work it out, I know you will. And third, what the fuck is wrong with where you’re at right now? I’m a year outta school and all I got is part time work – unskilled manual labor, yo – and I’m not het up over it. It takes some people way over a year to figure their shit out, look at my brothers, we got time, okay? I know your family is crazy ambitious and all that, but everyone’s got their own pace, nothin’ wrong with that. And how dare you talk shit about my girl? You’re not a fuck up, you’re my Ireth. You’re my strong, fierce, boss-ass bitch.”

“I’m not strong,” said Aredhel, wiping her nose on his shirt, and Celegorm laughed at her.

“Bullshit. You’re the strongest person I know. I know you still get some rough patches, I know you can get angry and scared – shit, I mean, I do that too. I know it gets bad for you sometimes, but you keep going, you keep pushing, and it’s impressive as hell. Have you checked out that lady whose number I gave you? Nienna?”

“N-not yet. I know it’d probably help, but I thought I was done with therapy, I thought I could just be _fixed_ already, and starting seeing someone again feels like going backwards.”

“Nuh uh. This is still about going forwards. It’s just like maintenance, y’know? Oil in the tank, keeping the transistor from getting rusty…”

“You don’t know shit about cars, do you?”

“Shhh, I’m being metaphorical. It’s totally cool if you don’t want to go, and it’s your call, obviously. But I think you’d like Nienna, she knows her shit. And did I tell you she’s black and queer?”

Aredhel sat up, wiping her eyes. “Listen, if you think telling me that is going to make me more likely to see her...” She scratched Huan behind the ears and rubbed the back of her hand over her nose. “…you’d be right. Yeah, I’d be much more likely to talk to a black lesbian shrink, I’m sold.”

“Thought you might be. Yeah, she’s really cool, and she’s also Vána’s partner.”

“Okay, now that’s a bit weird.”

“It’s only weird if you introduce yourself like ‘hey I’m your girlfriend’s husband’s boyfriend’s ex-fuckbuddy’.”

“Or I could just be like, ‘hey I’m Tyelko’s cousin’.”

“That too.”

“She’s met you, right? Will she hold our association against me?”

“I think I actually made a good impression on her.” Celegorm grinned. “Like, relatively speaking. She called me charming, anyway, and said I was better than Oromë’s other boyfriends.”

“She called you charming? Was she drunk?”

“Shut your facehole, I’m a delight.”

“Hang on, tell me more about Oromë’s other boyfriends. They must have been basically walking trashcans if you’re the best of the bunch…”

“Do you want me to take back all the nice, comforting shit I was just telling you?”

“Sorry. Force of habit.” Aredhel leaned against him again, and Celegorm kissed her forehead and ruffled up her hair at the same time.

“Seriously, though, Ireth, how much have you had to drink?”

“Not much.”

“You lying?”

“Not much.”

“You wanna stay here to sleep it off?”

“Yeah, probably.” She sighed. “I want to see Elenwë, but she’s coming into finals now, and she’s wicked stressed, and the last thing she needs is her crazy girlfriend turning up at her place drunk and crying after spending the past week being a frigid bitch to her.”

“You’ve been freezing her out? Aw, Ireth.”

“I know.” Aredhel moaned and hid her face again. “Why do you think I’ve been drinking? I’m such a slug to her, why does she keep me around, why does she love me, why would _anyone_ love me – ?”

“Spiraling, baby girl.” Celegorm pulled her to her feet and she swayed against him. “Let’s get you some water, then come get in bed.”

“Not a good idea,” mumbled Aredhel. “I should…I shouldn’t stay in your bed.” They looked at each other, and then away. The silence between them stretched out, abrupt and awkward.

“I wouldn’t make a move, you know,” said Celegorm, to the far wall. “I’m crazy in love with someone else, you know.”

“Me too,” said Aredhel, to her feet. “But. Sometimes we – Sometimes we’re _us_ , even when we don’t want to be. We. Don’t always have a good track record of. _Not_ doing self-destructive things. I should. I shouldn’t stay in your bed. Not when I’m like this.”

“Yeah, okay.” Celegorm still didn’t look back at her.

“You think I don’t trust you.”

“Naw.”

“I don’t trust _me_.”

Celegorm looked back at her. “I wouldn’t let anything happen, you know. I’m sober as hell and I think I’m in remission from self-destructive behavior. Mostly.”

“But if I did something… if I tried… even if you didn’t let it happen, I would _know_ , I would know I’d tried to do the thing, and I don’t want to know that about myself.” Aredhel shivered and pulled her hands over her face. “Not on top of everything else I know about myself and wish I didn’t.”

Celegorm reached out and took her hand, his careless familiarity returning as quickly as it had left. “That’s okay. You know what we’ve got in _spades_ in this house right now? Spare beds. Wouldn’t want you in mine, anyway. You might break it, massive as you are.”

“Hah. Like I didn’t _just_ see your titan-sized boyfriend in it…”

“A featherweight, compared to you.”

“No wonder you were always such a long-term success with the ladies.”

He led her out into the hallway, and the uncharacteristically quiet house. The only light came from under Curufin’s door, which was tight shut. Celegorm’s gaze lingered on it for a moment before he pulled an easy grin back onto his face and said, “So, lady, which of my brother’s beds do you wanna lay claim to? Not gonna lie, Nelyo’s is probably the safest bet.”

 

* * *

 

Aredhel woke up and rolled over. She stared at the ceiling, briefly confused. The light was wrong, casting unfamiliar shadows onto the ceiling from the windows - and the windows were in the wrong place too. And the blankets...the blankets felt odd. Quilts, instead of the comforter she had on her own bed, or the blankets on...Elenwë's... She dug the heel of her hand into her eyes, trying to reorient herself.

_Fuck, waking up in a strange place again. You haven't done that in a while... At least there's no one in bed with you._

She looked over quickly to check that this was in fact the case, and let out a sigh of relief at seeing she was alone. Her head was fogged and aching, though, settling into a dull pound behind her eyes, and her mouth tasted of rancid tongue. As she groaned and flopped onto her side, she realized she was staring at a picture of her brother on the bedside table. Aredhel blinked for a second, and then everything fell into place.

_Maitimo's room. Tyelko's house. Came over last night, drunk, yep, interrupted Tyelko with his boyfriend, sounds about right, CRIED on Tyelko, oh, good, if he hadn't gotten wise to the fact that you were off your ass before that, that probably tipped him off..._

_Hopefully he didn't know_ quite _how off your ass you were, though._

_You've always been good at talking like you're with it, even when you aren't._

Aredhel groaned and forced herself upright. She was wearing socks, but her jeans were on the floor, and she grimaced as she slid a finger under her breasts where the underwire of her bra had dug into her skin.

"Killer job getting undressed last night, girl," she muttered, and rolled out of bed, grabbing her jeans as she landed on the floor.

A few minutes later she tiptoed onto the landing, fully dressed, her hair wild and unruly, but probably a lost cause. The two doors on the far end of the hallway were closed, and she poked her head briefly through Celegorm's. He was fast asleep in bed, sprawled across the mattress in his usual disarray. Predictably, Huan had migrated from his designated bed to the foot of Celegorm's, and was snoring with his head on Celegorm's feet.

Grinning a little to herself, Aredhel pulled the door shut and slipped down the stairs to the front door. 

The sun hit her stinging eyes like a fistful of sand, and she winced and fumbled in her jacket pocket for sunglasses. Setting off down the street, two desires warred within her, and she debated which one she should attempt first.

_El is studying, El is a good student, El isn't gonna want to be interrupted. Not by a hungover feelingsmonster, anyway._

_A good girlfriend would give her space until she's done with finals._

_A good girlfriend would be supportive and encouraging and not underfoot._

_A good girlfriend wouldn't be hungover on a Wednesday morning._

_A good girlfriend would be as responsible as she is._

_A good girlfriend wouldn't have a bottle in her sock drawer for bad Tuesday nights._

_But you're a not a good - Nope. Not going there._

_El is studying. Leave El alone for now._

Aredhel tipped her head back, her wild hair falling down her back, the grey circles under her eyes hidden by her sunglasses. 

_Hair of the dog it is, then._

_And two more weeks._

 

* * *

 

 

The doorbell rang, twice. Curufin waited, but when it became clear no one else was going to respond, he sighed and pulled himself up from the couch to answer it, his textbook still under one arm, a pencil behind his ear. He pulled the door open.

Finrod was standing on the front step, his bright hair tossed by the windy spring day, his jacket off and tucked neatly under his arm – and a flower in his hand.

Curufin looked at the flower. It was large, and purple, and sweet-smelling. He raised his eyes back to Finrod, who smiled at him.

He shut the door in Finrod’s face.

“Curvo…” Finrod’s voice came through the door, slightly muffled.

“Nope,” said Curufin, heading back into the living room and his pile of books. “Nope, no, nuh uh. Gross. Go away. I take back the relationship thing.”

He sat down on the couch and pulled out his notebook. A tap came at the window. Curufin didn’t look up. Finrod rapped at the glass again. Curufin put his headphones on and studied his notes with interest, carefully ignoring how Finrod leaned heavily against the window with a deep sigh that fogged the glass.

“That’s going to leave a smudge,” said Curufin, without looking up.

Finrod vanished from the window, and shortly thereafter, there was the sound of the backdoor opening. Light footsteps came down the hall, and Finrod appeared in the living room, the flower tucked into his back pocket. He crossed his arms.

“So you weren’t kidding about the ‘flowers are gross and cheesy’ thing.”

“I never kid.”

“Apparently not. But you don’t have to worry about this one, at any rate, because it wasn’t for you.”

Curufin looked up, frowning, and pulled his headphones off. “Oh no? Was it for someone else?”

“Yes, it was for me. I saw it on my way over and wanted to press it for later. It’s an well-shaped specimen and would fit perfectly in my sketchbook.”

Curufin looked pained. “God, you are so hopelessly lame.”

“Lilac season is always over quicker than I expect, and before I know it they’ve all stopped blooming. I wanted to grab this one – which, as I said, is nicely shaped and unusually vivid – for my collection before I missed my chance, like I have for the past several years.”

“Hopelessly lame, and with weird interests to boot.”

“That’s rich coming from you, o creator of Tesla Coils.”

“Tesla Coils aren’t allowed in the house, just spark gaps, how many times do I have to tell you people? And just watch it, okay, you’re still on probation.”

Finrod sat down next to him, after first removing the spray of lilac from his pocket and laying it carefully on the end table. “I wasn’t aware our relationship was probationary.”

“Ugh, please don’t say ‘our relationship’.” Curufin shuddered. “It’s such a heinous turn of phrase.”

“You’re allowed to tell me I’m on probation, but I’m not allowed to call this a relationship? I think I have some complaints to lodge about equity, and vocabulary.” Finrod looked thoughtful. “And if not a relationship, what would you call it? I mean, at its most basic, ‘relationship’ is simply defined as the standing interrelation between two people, whether as friends, family, lovers, or even enemies. It’s vague and open-ended, possibly, but not inaccurate, and I imagine you’d prefer it to me calling you my ‘boyfriend’…”

Curufin glowered. “ _That_ word is even _more_ off-limits.”

Finrod sighed. “Perhaps it’s best I not speak at all, then, if half my vocabulary is verboten.”

“Half your vocabulary consists of two words denoting romantic standing? How pathetic. Perhaps I don’t want to be in any kind of interpersonal anything with you, after all, if you – ”

“You’re impossible,” said Finrod, and caught Curufin’s chin to pull him into a chaste, swift kiss.

Curufin dropped his notes and half raised his hands to reach out for Finrod’s shoulders. He’d just tipped his head to the side, letting Finrod deepen the kiss, when there was a clatter on the stairs and the two of them sprang apart.

“Curvo,” called Celegorm, as he yanked a sweatshirt over his head and tried not to trip over Huan, who was racing down the stairs at his feet. “I’m going to go get some groceries and walk the dog creature, d’you need any – ” He pulled up short at the sight of Finrod. “What the fuck is _he_ doing here?”

“None of your business,” said Curufin shortly, before Finrod could say anything. Finrod was looking at Celegorm apprehensively, and had drawn almost imperceptibly further from him.

“Like hell it’s not my business,” said Celegorm, looking thunderous. “It’s my house, ain’t it? And if I wanna say that no pathetic fuckboys who’ve screwed over two of my brothers are allowed – ”

“You can _say_ whatever you want,” said Curufin. “But I don’t have to obey you, and I certainly don’t have to care. You don’t see me ordering _your_ guests from the house, no matter what I think about them. Not when your boyfriend is over here at all hours – ”

“He’s been over _twice_ , you’ve barely seen him, we’ve been quiet as hell and whatever happened to you being supportive of my relationship, huh?”

“ – and not when your _friend_ shows up drunk and pathetic and squats in our brother’s room – ”

“Irissë is _your_ cousin too, and god knows we have enough space for her now that you’ve driven the last of our brothers from the house – ”

“ – so the least you can do, Turko, is leave me the fuck alone.”

The two of them glared at each other, while Finrod glanced between them, looking deeply troubled.

“Tyelkormo,” he said quietly. “I don’t want to cause any further tension in your family. I only wished – ”

“Shut up, Ingoldo.”

Curufin stood up, staring daggers at his brother. His face was pale, which made the scar under his eye stand out lividly. Celegorm tried to glare back at him, but couldn’t seem to meet his eyes, dropping his furious gaze to the ground as Huan circled between them anxiously.

“He’s going to be around more often,” Curufin said, very softly. “And you’re just going to have to get used to it.”

Celegorm kept staring at the floor, clenching his jaw, his hands working into fists at his sides.

“I don’t give a shit if you like him, or trust him, or whether you think he’s a hideous, cheating double-timer.” Finrod flinched, but Curufin ignored him. “This is my business, not yours. I don’t nose into your life anymore – you seem to have resented me doing that in the past, if I remember correctly; well, congratulations, I’m done – and _you stay out of mine_.”

“Curvo,” said Finrod. “This isn’t necessary.”

“Be quiet, I’m dealing with this.”

“Okay, no.” Finrod stood up too. “You know what, neither of you have a right to tell me to shut up, and I am _tired_ of being the reason everyone is falling out right and left. Yes, I know I’ve messed up, countless times, and countless ways, and that’s why I’m calling this, right now. I can see where this is going, I feel this slipping into another catastrophe, and _enough_ already. Curufinwë, I appreciate you defending me, if that is indeed what you’re doing, but I have no desire for you to blackmail or attack your brother on my account. This is not worth descending into another pitched battle. He is allowed to dislike and distrust me, he is even allowed to register his displeasure that I am here. Heaven knows I understand his reasoning, and his protectiveness over his brothers, even if he does not actually have the authority to tell you whom you can or cannot see, or who can or cannot visit this house. Tyelkormo,” Finrod turned on Celegorm, and it was suddenly apparent, as it hadn’t been before, that Finrod was taller than both of them, straight-backed and composed. His usually soft, gentle voice was steady and authoritative, and his gaze didn’t waver. “By all means, hate me and all I’ve done, it is a more than fair reaction. But your brother is an adult, he makes his own decisions, as you should be more than abundantly aware, and at some point, you’re going to need to trust and respect his judgment – or at least pretend to – as he does yours, even when you don’t agree with it. Your role isn’t to be the guard dog on his life, and the more you try to be so, the more he’s going to react against it, and I know neither of you actually wants to lose the other. Now both of you, _stop snarling at each other_ , stop the unnecessary dramatics, and let me do what I can to prove that I am worth your time, Curvo, and not an active threat to you or yours, Tyelko.” Finrod let out a breath, then turned and reached down to pick up the lilac bloom laying on the end table. “Now. I am going to go home. Curvo, I would very much like to take you out tomorrow night, if you are amenable. I can text or call later with the details, when you’re less occupied with your homework.” He looked like he wanted to move across to Curufin, to touch him, or kiss him, but he held himself back. “But for now, good day to you both.” He tucked his flower behind his ear and strode out of the house. He should have looked ridiculous, the flamboyant spray of purple flowers draping against his hair, but it suited him oddly well.

Celegorm and Curufin stared after him, the scent of lilac dying in the air, while Huan gave a happy _whuff_ of farewell.

“He’s got some nerve,” said Celegorm finally. “Trying to tell us what to do. Who does he think he is?”

“I know, tell me about it. Presumptuous, sanctimonious prat. And he calls _us_ unnecessarily dramatic?”

“No shit.”

They both stared at the door a while longer, then Curufin turned briskly to Celegorm. “If you’re still planning on running errands, I could use some more paper.”

Celegorm shrugged his sweatshirt straight, freeing his hair from the hood. “What kinda paper? Toilet paper? Paper towels?”

“No, you simpleton, notepaper, for school. Engineering pads, to be specific.”

“Dude, I was planning on going to, like, the 7-11.”

“If you walk three more blocks you’d be by a Staples…”

“If _you_ walk three more blocks you’d be all set, then.”

“Fine,” said Curufin, heading to the door. “I’ll go with you. Let me grab my jacket.”

“Cool.” Celegorm grabbed Huan’s leash, Curufin pulled on his jacket, and side-by-side, they headed out into the bright sunshine, still talking.

“He’s right about one thing, though. You’re _not_ my guard dog.”

“Hah. Shows what you know, peanut.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I can't guarantee that there will be a chapter update next Thursday, fyi. I'm traveling for the next week (my little bother is graduating from _college_ of all things, and I have to go tell embarrassing stories about him to his frat brothers); I'm also helping my partner move across the country for a summer job and dealing with that transition. I didn't mean to have Aredhel and Elenwe's long-distance situation so clearly mirror my own, but hey! Art imitates life, or vice versa, or something. I promise I'm not drunk and crying about it though (yet). Anyway, re: next Thursday update: you never know, but I figured I should lower expectations right off the bat.  <3  
> 2\. ILLUSTRATIONS FOR THIS CHAPTER OMG. First! [Finrod + lilac](http://imindhowwelayinjune.tumblr.com/post/119860110718/sirins-tree-finrod-and-his-lilac-d-from) by [sirins-tree](http://sirins-tree.tumblr.com/) :3  
> Second! Last scene of the chapter - [genderbent](http://imindhowwelayinjune.tumblr.com/post/119905125728/i-dont-know-why-but-i-feel-compelled-to) [by](http://imindhowwelayinjune.tumblr.com/post/119905414593/i-wanted-to-draw-celegorm-in-this-scene-too-i) [Snartha](http://snartha.tumblr.com). AMAZING.  
> Third! [Finrod+lilac portrait](http://silmarillle.tumblr.com/post/125138637489/quick-gift-art-of-finrod-from-the-lilac-scene-in), by Silje. Just. spectacular.


	52. Now we soar on the live wire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we experience a first date, some digital communications, and a fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Warnings for first dates, light allusions to alcohol abuse, and oral sex. All in separate scenes, amazingly.

_**To:** “Makalaurë”  <mightyvoice@gmail.com>_

_**From:** “Ríanellë”  <garlandgirl@gmail.com>_

_**Subject:** hey friend hey_

_Dear Magsabags,_

_I bring you greetings from the north! I miss the city already :((((_

_Quick, before I forget: Track 12 (what we’ve been calling Salt Crusade, I think). I was listening to the recording I had on my phone and I realized the bridge is all wrong. I’m rewriting it as we speak and I’ll record it on my phone and send it so you guys can listen and see if you agree – but I feel confident that doing it in a minor chord will be way way better. Maybe we can have a skype session when I get done with work, if you two aren’t in the studio (or rolling like pimps down 5_ _ th _ _ave, what whaaaat, don’t pick up too many hot girls without me.)_

_Other things! I’m back at work, trying not to feel all dejected and blah to be back. As you asked, I have been sneakily eyeballing your brother to make sure he is in one piece etc etc. He looks good (I mean he always looks good, but – hang on, I’m gonna stop before I dig myself into a hole here) and apparently he got into some teaching fellowship program? Did you know that? So he’s all freaking out and getting ready to start that this summer, I guess, and studying like mad for this math teacher test. He says he wanted to teach social studies (poli sci major and all that) but no one needs more social studies teachers, and so he’s going to try the math thing. More power to him; I haven’t done math since high school and if I had to relearn it now my brain would actually coalesce into sponge cake. But you know all this about Maedhros already, don’t you? Because you’ve talked to him, haven’t you? HAVEN’T YOU._

_You told him, Mags, YOU TOTALLY TOLD HIM._

_So yesterday he was trying to get the students to break out into small groups, and he said, “Okay, let’s break into threeso- ” and then he caught himself, and looked at me, and turned bright red, and choked on his tongue, and stopped talking. And I said, “Groups of three, kids, groups of three,” and then asked him if he needed to go get a drink of water. He did._

_YOU TOLD HIM._

_But he’s being an adult about it (mostly) and seems to have his blushes under control, which is good, because he’s a grown human adult and all that and we work with children. So. I shall say no more._

_(but you totally told him)_

_I’m so bummed I’m not going to see your first performance this weekend. I have no doubt you and Dai will be awesome and bring down the house. He’s got stage presence out the ass, I know, but don’t undersell yourself – you are compelling as hell when you’re performing, and you’ve got mad skills to boot. Try not to compete with each other, try to work **with** each other, because seriously, when you do, no one’s better. I heard it in the studio, hell, I heard it in Dai’s apartment, I hear it every time you guys get out of your heads and your weird posturing and just let yourselves play._

_You know this. This is your sweet spot._

_I should go, recess is almost over and I’m typing this on my phone like a mad thing and Maedhros is probably wondering why I’m not helping him set up the afterschool tables._

_Say hi to Dai for me. More later._

_xx_

_Ría~_

 

* * *

 

Curufin dug through his bureau drawers, cursing quietly under his breath. Part of his frustration had to do with the fact that there was something small and panicky rocketing around in his chest that was screaming _you have nothing to wear and will look like a fool and all is destined to failure_ , but the majority of his frustration was that he, of all people, was falling into the worst stereotype in the book.

“Nervous before a first date,” he muttered, as he held up a shirt critically and then threw it back into the drawer with a hiss of rejection, and tried not to be even more annoyed by the fact he’d used the phrase ‘first date’. “Nervous about what to wear, _pathetic_ , this is the stupidest… I am _better_ than this…”

He finally settled on a simple collared shirt, a pair of almost new dark wash jeans (he’d discarded slacks as too formal, but kept going back and forth on the matter), and all that remained was choosing an over-layer. He rummaged through his sweaters with increasing temper. When had everything he owned started to look so frumpy and poor quality? Why was everything in such hideous shades? What kind of low-performance materials did clothing manufacturers use these days, anyway? His hand settled in relief on a soft, charcoal-grey sweater, exactly the color of his eyes. _Yes, perfect; easy, classic, simple –_ His heart rate briefly slowed as he half dragged it out to put on – before he remembered.

At once, he shoved it back into the drawer with an exclamation of disgust.

When more time than he cared to admit had elapsed, and half a dozen times the same grey wool returned to the corner of his eye as the only ideal option, he gave a cry of fury, jerked the drawer out of the bureau entirely and upended it on the floor, before giving the bureau itself a sharp kick for good measure.

“Ooh, nice touch,” said a voice.

Curufin whirled around to see Celegorm leaning in his doorway, watching with good-humored interest.

“How long have you been there?”

Celegorm shrugged. “I heard you starting to go crazy about 20 minutes ago, so I decided to watch and wait for the break to actually happen. Shoulda tipped me off that you were so far gone that you didn’t even notice me come in, but man, dumping your clothes on the floor? A-plus. Killer move. Super adult.”

Curufin pressed his lips together, all too aware that it only served to make him look petulant. “The drawer,” he said, through clenched teeth, “sticks abominably. This bureau is a piece of garbage, I’ve always said so. I was…trying to fix it.”

“Yeah, sure. That’s how I like to fix shit too.” Celegorm eyed the mess on the floor, and the other clothes strewn on the bed. “This is the messiest any room you’ve occupied has been since you were a fetus. Wanna tell me why you’re freaking out?”

“No.”

“Wanna give me a decent lie about it then?”

“Furniture repair.”

“Right. Of course. Can I get you a hammer for that furniture repair of yours? Or better yet, a stiff drink? A sedative?”

“All you need to get is _out._ ”

“Whatever you want,” said Celegorm, and crossed the hallway back to his room. “But,” he called, as if an afterthought, over his shoulder, “you shouldn’t bother with a sweater today, anyway. It’s going to be warm, you can get away with that light jacket of yours and you’ll be fine. It looks good on you, too.”

Curufin made sure Celegorm’s door had clicked shut behind him before letting out a quiet sigh of relief and going to his closet to grab the jacket in question.

Perfect.

 

* * *

 

 

_Irissssseeeeee_

_Hey Tyelko what’s up_

_my DICK_

_gross_

_you love it._

_no but seriously I’m just shitting around waiting for something to happen_

_boreddddd as helllllll_

_no work today?_

_nope. big job next week though thank god_

_i’m almost outta $$_

_and no boyfriend today either?_

_nope. he’s wth his sister. how u?_

_Meh_

_meh?_

_Mehemehehemeh. I’m not doing good in this place_

_u in ur apt?_

_Yeah. it’s too fucking quiet. My brain won’t shut up._

_So I try to drown it, you know_

_uh huh_

_you need a drinking buddy? drinking alone is bad for u_

_Everything about this is bad for me._

_I am bad at being alone. I hate this place._

_What, beleriand?_

_No, my apartment._

_I thought I wanted to be done with roommates, but living alone sucksss._

_I am not the type for it._

_I am sooo claustrophobic/agoraphobic/anxious/depressed/lonely rn_

_huh_

_That all you got? You’re useless, Feanorion._

_well actually i had this idea after the other night…_

_Uh oh_

_i gotta run it by curvo first. i was actually gonna try him today but thn I walked into his room n it was like a bomb had gone off_

_so i think ill wait til after his ‘‘’’date’’“”_

_DATE?!?_

_ye lets not go there im wrking at ‘being cool with it’_

_Hahaha ok_

_anyway i have a propoisiton 4 you but i gotta talk to the peewee 1st_

_i’ll get back to you_

_Are you considering what I think you’re considering?_

_nope_

_You ARE_

_mebbe. wouldja be into it if i was?_

_I might be crazy for saying this…but yeah. yeah I totally would_

_then i’ll just hafta ask curvo wont i ;)_

_Good fucking luck he hates me_

_he doesnt hate you. he’s afraid of you_

_Much better_

_anyway. i’ll get back to u. stop drinking now k?_

_Yea_

_Srsly tho_

_Yea_

_I will_

_Thanks._

 

* * *

 

 

Finrod met Curufin downtown at the corner of 5th and Aros, as they’d agreed. He looked effortlessly stylish in a light shirt cuffed to the elbows and slim-cut jeans; even his hair managed to look artfully windblown, and Curufin stared at him with a mixture of resentment and appreciation.

Finrod smiled at him. “Hello.”

“Hello.”

“You look nice.”

Curufin rolled his eyes. “Not even a minute in and we’re already resorting to clichés.”

“Not even a minute in and you’re already calling me out on them.”

“Touché.”

“Shall we?” Finrod turned and started down the street. For a moment, Curufin had thought he was going to hold out his arm, or take his hand, but he was relieved that Finrod kept his hands at his sides, the only point of contact between them the occasional brush of their shoulders.

“Well?” demanded Curufin at last, when he could take it no longer. “Where are you taking me?”

“Goodness, you make it sound like I’m abducting you.”

“Close enough, as far as I’m concerned. Where are we going?”

“I have been thinking about our conversation,” said Finrod, apparently not hearing his question. “And turning it over in my mind, for the implications and so on.”

“Which conversation?” Curufin couldn’t figure out what to do with his arms. When he let them swing at his side, his fingertips brushed against Finrod’s, and the next thing he knew he’d do something inane like grab Finrod’s hand, and he didn’t think he could stand the embarrassment of that. He shoved them, instead, deep into the pockets of the jacket he was glad Celegorm had suggested.

“The one we had at Bëor’s,” said Finrod. “About our relationship.” Curufin made a _tsk_ ing sound and Finrod grinned. “Or whatever you want to call it.”

“Fine. But what were you thinking about? I gave you a list,” Curufin warned, “of things I won’t do.”

“Yes, it was that list I was thinking of.”

“ _Of which_ you were thinking.”

“Pedant.”

“Philistine.”

They glanced sideways at each other, and Curufin bit the inside of his cheek to keep a half smile from slipping across his face. “Get on with it already.”

“I was thinking about the stargazing rule, and how if it was going to be done, there should be no ‘necking on picnic blankets’.”

“Yes,” said Curufin, trying to figure out where Finrod was going with this. “Why, were you hoping to negotiate the terms? It’s too early, and too urban, for stargazing, anyway.”

“No, I was thinking very seriously about the ‘if we’re looking at stars, we should be being scientific about it’ part.”

“And?”

“And I thought of the perfect place for our first date. Sorry, our ‘first outing as intimate acquaintances’, if the terminology bothers you so.” Finrod stopped, and Curufin walked into him. Finrod half turned, steadying him with a light hand at his waist, and for a moment they were face to face, their bodies brushing together, Finrod’s hand on Curufin’s side. Curufin swallowed as their eyes met, but Finrod just raised a brief hand to brush against his cheek before turning away. “How do you feel about observatories? Purely scientific, I promise, and I shall do no necking whatsoever – unless, of course, you want me to.”

Curufin looked up at the familiar dome. He’d been so distracted by the novelty of this excursion, and the confusing tension of trying to figure out what to do with his hands and to figure out what to do with Finrod, and if he should act differently, or the same, or different but better, that he hadn’t even noticed their trajectory - a novel experience in itself.

“Ah,” he said, processing. “Not bad, Felagund.”

“High praise indeed, Fëanorion,” said Finrod, and held out his hand. After only the briefest hesitation, Curufin took it, and followed him through the gates.

 

-

 

Fifteen minutes later they were back out on the street.

Finrod put his hands in his pockets and walked along, staring thoughtfully at the sky. Curufin brooded next to him.

“So,” said Finrod, after an interlude.

“Shut up.”

“That’s something I haven’t seen before.”

“Well, you’re not very experienced, then.”

Finrod started to say something to this, then stopped. “Hm.”

“Shut up.”

“I mean, I know the question of calibration is important, but maybe there would have been a more diplomatic way – ”

“No.”

“And perhaps that family didn’t quite deserve to be – ”

“That _child_ had an _ice cream cone_ with him. There are _signs_. No one was enforcing the _rules_. Children shouldn’t even be allowed in such places, much less snot-nosed and leaking brats like him.”

“Oh, well, certainly, _he_ deserved what was coming to him. Six year olds are the true menace, I’ve always said so.”

“Right.”

“But the attendant…”

“Shut up.”

Finrod hummed quietly to himself as they walked down the sidewalk. Curufin glowered.

“So.”

“WHAT.”

“Get thrown out of observatories much, do you?”

Curufin looked like he was going to say something scathing, but then bit his tongue, let out a breath through his nose, and joined Finrod in staring at the sky. “Yes.”

Finrod leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek, making Curufin jump in surprise. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

 

* * *

  

Maglor was staring down at his laptop in mild frustration, the apparently simple task of checking his email having turned into far more of a procedure than he’d expected.

“Augh. Hey Dai, remind me of your wifi password? My computer’s tweaking out and doesn’t seem to remember that I ever connected here.”

No answer.

Maglor sighed and pushed a few buttons fruitlessly. “See, this is when I miss Curvo. Sometimes him just standing close to my computer would make it work again. Machines hate me.” He pulled his fingers through his hair, tugging it out of its usual ponytail. “The password was ‘shadowoftrees1’, right? Is that lowercase or camelcase?”

From the back of the apartment came the banging of a door and the stomping of feet. Maglor wrinkled his nose, frowning.

“Dai?”

Daeron slammed into the living room, looking positively livid, two angry red spots of color high on his cheeks, standing out starkly against his pale, freckly skin.

Maglor looked up, startled. “Hey, is something wrong?”

“NO.”

“Okay.” Maglor watched Daeron stomp over to the fridge and yank it open so forcefully that a beer bottle jumped out. Daeron swore loudly, and Maglor winced.

“Why the FUCK is everything in this house a fucking mess?” Daeron grabbed the beer bottle and shoved it back into the refrigerator door hard enough that the glass rattled alarmingly.

Maglor put his hands over his ears. “Jesus.”

“WHAT.” Daeron whirled on him. “You got a problem?”

“No. It just got suddenly…loud in here. Seriously, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing!”

Maglor dropped his eyes to his computer, but his internet connection was still acting up, so he gave up and closed his laptop. He crossed his legs on the couch and draped an arm over the back, trying to get Daeron to look at him. “That’s obviously not true. Did something happen? Why are you so hacked off?”

“You want to know, do you?”

“Um. Yes?”

Daeron grabbed something rolled up on the counter and brandished it like a club. “They wrote us up in the _Voice_ ,” he snarled.

“Oh.” Maglor sucked in a breath. He hadn’t considered that fact that their performance the prior weekend might have gotten any press. His shoulders suddenly felt very tight. “Was it a bad review?”

“See for yourself.” Daeron threw the paper at him. Maglor caught it, his heart beating fast, and opened it to the page that had been folded down. He scanned the column, anxiety tight in his throat and his eyes not working as well as they usually did, until his own name leapt out at him.

 

 

> _…but the mononymous singer’s powerhouse vocals are surprisingly upstaged by those of newcomer and backing guitarist, Maglor Fëanorion. Fëanorion’s relatively gentle but more nuanced vocals bring a heart and soul to the performance that ‘delivers’ far more than Daeron’s bring-the-house-down acoustic gymnastics. Bringing in Fëanorion was the right call – Daeron’s never achieved as much emotion or raw talent in a performance as when he had this unassuming, nimble-finger guitarist there to prop him up._

Maglor raked down to the end of the article – most of the rest dealt with the night’s other performers, but that of it that did mention their performance was much in the same line. His mouth wanted to curl into an amazed smile, but he bit it back sharply.

“Hey, pretty good write-up,” he said, trying to sound generally enthusiastic and encouraging and to keep the intense delight and self-satisfaction out of his voice.

“Yeah, for you,” Daeron shot back, and Maglor chewed the inside of his cheek. “The reviewer was all up in your ‘gentle, mellow-voiced’ ass while they cut _me_ down to size. Jesus, what if my label sees this and decides they made the wrong call with me and should just sign you instead?”

“That’s not going to happen. Come on, it’s not that bad. He called you a ‘powerhouse’, that’s a _good_ thing, and you’re the one who has the record deal not me, so – ”

“This’ll look real good in my clippings. ‘Musician sounds the best when he’s completely upstaged by someone else’.”

“It’s one review, you can’t get in your head about this.” Maglor tried to sound calm and reasonable. “He could have just eviscerated you, god knows plenty of amazing musicians get reviews like that during their careers. One review, that’s it, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“ ‘Can’t get in my head about this’, hah! If this had been _you_ , Mags, you would have pitched a fit and sulked for a month, minimum. Remember that Battle of the Bands when you were off-key and someone blogged about it and you threatened to take a bottle of pills?”

“I never did that! If I said anything like that I was joking, anyway, and I was sixteen, for fuck’s sake.”

“So you’re calling me a child now.”

“No!”

But Daeron wasn’t listening, pacing around furiously. “God, was this your plan all along? Come out to visit, right, my ass. You were staging yourself for a take-over, weren’t you?”

“ _What?_ No! Dai, I didn’t even know we’d record together out here, much less perform…”

“And yet you brought your guitar.”

Maglor stared at him. “I bring my guitar everywhere! I was just hoping to, like, jam with you.”

“Oh, cut it out, I don’t buy the sweet and innocent act. You’re a calculating fucking bastard, just like the rest of your family.”

Maglor started to get angry. “Calculating? How about you, getting me in to make your album better and beef up your vocals and getting your name on MY songs while you basically use me and Ría like songwriting hacks – ”

“Oh, like this isn’t the best opportunity you’ve had in your life.”

“What even am I getting out of it, Dai? Just unemployment, and crashing on your fucking couch, and not getting paid. Yeah, I’ve been out here weeks, got _fired_ from my job to stick around for you, and not a fucking cent! I asked for a contract ages ago, and you said – ”

“I said I’d work on it, didn’t I? If you cared so much you could have stopped anytime you wanted, but you didn’t. I’m no fucking accountant, and that’s my producer’s job, anyway, not mine, I can’t just whip out a contract lawyer and draw you something up.”

“Really? Because it seems like you could at least lean on someone to make that happen.”

“How about the fact that you’re living here rent-free? How about the fact that I haven’t charged you a penny for rent, or utilities, or fuck, even groceries the whole time you’ve been here?”

“I BOUGHT groceries, last Monday, you saw me!”

“And you ate 90% of them by Wednesday.”

“Maybe if I had an actual income I’d be able to contribute a bit more! I should ask, did we get paid for this weekend’s gig? Where’d that money go? Into your pocket, like the rest, and I’m still playing without a fucking contract…”

“Look at this, little Makalaurë’s finally got himself a spine. Where’d you borrow THAT from, Fëanorion, your brothers? God knows you’ve never had one yourself.”

“Fuck off,” spat Maglor, pushed past his limit. He surged to his feet, angrier than he’d been in weeks. “Fuck off, you petty little child, I’m not going to let you push me around _again_. The whole time we’ve been friends you’ve always pushed me around, and I’m done. I don’t care what you say about me. Just suck my dick, you pathetic asshole.”

“You’d like that, huh?” Daeron sneered at him, then to Maglor’s shock, pushed him roughly against the wall and dropped to his knees.

“What – ”

“Shut up.” Daeron jerked the fly of Maglor’s jeans down, and Maglor gaped down at him, shocked to the core and utterly derailed. This was not how shouting matches usually ended, surely.

“Dai, what the f– ” But he broke off with a groan and a gasp as Daeron’s mouth closed around him.

He hadn’t been turned on; arousal had been the farthest thing from his mind, but he hardened almost shockingly quickly as Daeron wrapped a hand around him, jerking him off into his mouth, and every other thought fled Maglor’s mind as swiftly as his rage had come on. He closed his eyes, the image of Daeron before him too intimate to look at without feeling a surge of embarrassment, especially when Daeron brought one of his hands between his own legs, clearly touching himself as he took Maglor deeper into his mouth.

Maglor squeezed his eyes shut, anger and arousal heightening his pleasure even as his brain screamed at him about the _weirdness_ of it all. With his eyes closed, he fought to bring other images to his mind: Ríanellë’s dark hair, her full lips, the sounds she made when he touched her, the heaviness of her thighs and the smoothness of her skin, the way she would…pull Daeron against her…as Maglor entered her from behind…Daeron, kissing Maglor over her shoulder…

Maglor could feel his impending orgasm, and with his eyes still tight shut he whispered, warningly, “Dai, I’m – ”

Daeron pulled back just in time. Maglor finished himself off with his hand as he heard Daeron give a tight little exhale, and then a gasp as he came too.

Maglor leaned back against the wall, heart beating hard, his limbs shaky, his mind unfocused and blurred. He could barely remember what they’d been talking about. He kept his eyes closed as he heard Daeron get to his feet, and do up his zipper.

He only opened his eyes again when he heard the bedroom door close.

He slept on the couch that night, as he had the night before, and would the night after, and in the morning, they didn’t speak of any of what had happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. That final scene with Maglor stolen _unabashedly_ from [this post](http://imindhowwelayinjune.tumblr.com/post/117965539070/cherryblossom-avenger-my-favorite-otp-headcanon). I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist. Also, as the fight unwound, it just happened? And I was like yeah sounds about right.


	53. There will be no strings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Warnings for a (brief, non-explicit) bit of sexual content, some relationship insecurity, and Lalwen.  
> 1\. GUYS LALWEN’S HERE and I forgot how much I love her. That’s all the summary I’m going to give you. LALWEN.

“No.”

“Aw, come on, let me at least give my reasons.”

“No. Are you insane?”

“Yeah, I’ve been told so, but this isn’t one of those moments. Please, Curvo, give me a chance to defend this, okay?”

Curufin folded his arms and glared at his brother, who was watching him with large, pleading eyes. The phrase ‘puppy-like’ crossed Curufin’s mind and he dismissed it as too obvious as Huan wuffled at Celegorm’s side.

“It would be an utter disaster. The two of you attract chaos like you’re gigantic – ” Curufin cast about for a suitable analogy, “ – _disaster-magnets_ , and that’s primarily because you _cause_ it yourselves. You’re both too loud, and messy, and you know I need things to be quiet for me to get work done.”

“What, like it was quiet when we had five guys living here? It’s going to be the summer, anyway, your workload will be less, and I swear we’ll be conscientious.”

“Hah. That’s the first time that word has come near you, either by crossing your lips or being applied in any proximity to you. I didn’t even know you had four syllable words in your concussion-addled, Cro-Magnon vocabulary.”

Celegorm ignored the insult. “Curvo, I really think she needs this.”

Curufin uncrossed his arms, and then crossed them again. “We’re not a halfway house.”

“She’s my best friend.”

“That cuts no ice with me. _I_ could care less about her.”

“Which means you care some.”

 _Damn_. _Since when does he notice semantics?_ “The point still holds.” Curufin searched for another excuse and found ‘Father wouldn’t allow it’ hovering on his lips before he bit it back angrily. He wasn’t supposed to care about such things anymore.

“Please, Curvo.” Celegorm was watching him, and had said ‘please’ twice in the last five minutes. That was…unnerving. “I really want to be able to offer her a place to be where she’s not by herself. She’s had a hard enough time, and living alone this summer isn’t gonna be healthy for her. I want to be there for her like she’s always been there for me. And besides, it’s not like those rooms are being used…” His voice trailed off, and Curufin seized on this.

“Maybe I’m not ready to see someone else in our brothers’ rooms yet, have you considered that?” His cheeks flushed at the catch in his voice, and Celegorm looked startled.

“What? I didn’t…I didn’t think you cared.”

“You don’t think it’s hard for me to have them all leave?” Curufin’s hands had come to rest between his knees and he clenched them hard together. “You don’t think I’ve noticed how it feels to have them gone except for the two of us?” He looked down, avoiding Celegorm’s gaze. “Maybe I don’t want someone else moving into their rooms because…because part of me hopes they’ll still come back. Maybe I don’t want to see them…replaced.” His voice went very soft, and he heard Celegorm pull in a breath. He dared to look up and almost immediately dropped his eyes again. Celegorm was studying him closely.

“No,” said Celegorm abruptly. “You could maybe fool someone else with that act, sweetheart, but not me. For one, Mae’s been gone for months and we _know_ he’s not moving back, so that’s a bullshit excuse to keep his room empty. And also I just don’t buy the whole you’re remorseful and sad and lonely bit. You haven’t mentioned Káno _once_ in the past two weeks, apart from me telling you we’d talked to him and you being like, ‘yeah, right, whatever.’ And I’d know if you felt anything but nastiness towards Moryo right now. At some point you will, but right now I know you’re still being a tool to him and are glad he’s not here. No luck. Try another one.”

Curufin raised his eyes again and dropped the tremble from his lips. He sneered. “Fine. All bullshit aside, none of that means I want Irissë living here.”

“It’ll split the burden on meals and things. She’s a good cook. She can even cook things that aren’t meat.”

Curufin hesitated, caught off guard by this appeal to pragmatism, not one usually in Celegorm’s persuasive repertoire. He _had_ been wearying of Celegorm’s endless hamburgers, relying more often than not on the snack food secreted around his bedroom for meals. “So?”

“I know you think you can survive on junk because you’re built like a minnow, but just because you weigh as much as a toaster doesn’t mean you can’t have the cholesterol of a fifty year old man or a heart attack before you graduate. ”

Curufin chewed his lip. “Your argument is that having a _woman_ around to cook will literally keep me alive with the succor of her home-cooked meals. How very fifties of you.” But it was a half-hearted rebuttal at best, and he could hear the lack of real scorn in his voice.

Celegorm sighed. “Fine, forget the cooking part. But look, you’ve seen how she doesn’t take shit from me. She bosses me around like crazy and is scary enough to make me do chores without bitching about it. ”

Curufin blinked. The second bathroom hadn’t been properly cleaned in weeks, because it was Celegorm’s responsibility and he had been unable to bully him into doing it properly. A clean bathroom, diversity of meals, and watching Celegorm get pushed around might be incentive enough… His fingers twitched, annoyed at starting to feel persuaded despite his best intentions.

His brother wasn’t slowing down. “And it’s only for the summer. Just ‘til Elenwë gets back and she’s in slightly less dire straits and can figure out a better living situation.” Celegorm had gotten closer at some point, and he sat down next to Curufin and touched his arm lightly. Curufin didn’t pull away. “Please, Curvo. If you say yes to this, I promise I won’t give you shit about Findaráto. I won’t try to throw him out of windows when he comes over. I won’t even _comment_ when he comes over.”

Curufin raised his eyebrows. This was not insignificant; so far, Finrod had steered well clear of any of Curufin’s family, rightfully wary of their reactions to him, and Curufin, who preferred being on his own turf, was tired of meeting him at Bëor’s apartment at random hours.

Curufin glanced at his brother, his resolution wavering, and saw him looking more serious than ever.  At last he sighed, and let his shoulders slump. “Fine.”

“Yes!” Celegorm punched the air and then grabbed Curufin into a tight hug. He let him go quickly, but not before he’d ruffled up his hair in delight and given him a kiss on the cheek.

Curufin scrubbed at his cheek, scowling, but with no real animus. “Tell her she can start bringing stuff over this weekend. If she must.”

“Thanks, peanut.” Celegorm leapt up, and Huan, who’d fallen asleep on the floor, looked up alertly. “I’m gonna go call her and tell her to put her bras in a bag and the cat in a carrier and get her ass over here.” He bounded from the room, and Curufin frowned, his brows drawing together again.

“Wait, put the _what_ in a carrier?”

 

* * *

 

Haleth dropped her bag to the ground, exhausted, kicking off her shoes before she’d even raised her head.

“Victory!”

Haleth looked up to see Lalwen, her arms raised above her head like she’d just won a marathon, and an exhausted smile broke over her face.

“Yep, I’m done,” she said, sending one of her shoes into the corner and sloughing off her jacket. “Every single final completed, every paper handed in, junior year’s ass kicked – well, survived, anyway – Boom.”

Lalwen gathered her into her arms and spun her around exuberantly. “Congrats, beautiful.”

“Thanks.” Haleth tucked her face into the crook of Lalwen’s neck and hung on tight. “Oooogh, I am so tired.”

Lalwen set her down gently. “What shall we do to celebrate? Can I take you out to dinner? Open that bottle of champagne I have lying around? Go take a walk by the lake, go for a bike ride, go get cupcakes at that new yuppie place I resent liking so much? Or I could just go down on you for an hour or two, this is an option as well. Choose your celebration.”

Haleth grinned, but couldn’t stifle a tremendous yawn. “I – Okay, would you think I was a total lame-ass if I said literally the only thing I wanted to do right now was sleep?” She looked apologetically up at Lalwen. “I know that’s boring. But I don’t think I’ve gotten more than four consecutive hours of sleep in like two weeks, and I gotta detox from all this Red Bull I’ve been chugging…”

“Oh my gosh, of course you can sleep.” Lalwen took Haleth’s face in her hands and kissed her forehead. “Stupid me, of course that’s the first thing you want to do. I’ve got a queen bed and fresh sheets in a room that is 100% not a dorm, and I’ve been keeping the windows open because the lilac is blooming and everything smells nice now. Let me put you to bed in there.”

Haleth gave a moan of pure longing. “Oh my god, I _love_ you.”

Lalwen rearranged her face to hide her surprise at this unexpected declaration, and instead chuckled and kissed Haleth again. “Let’s get you human again.”

“I’m sorry I’m so lame,” Haleth mumbled as she pulled off her clothes and stumbled over to collapse into bed. “We can do…fun things…later…”

“No worries, I knew what I was getting into dating a college kid.” _Mostly_ , Lalwen added, but only to herself. _I still get taken by surprise here and there…_ “Pass out, baby.”

“Nap with me?” Haleth held out an arm, her eyes already closing, and Lalwen obligingly stretched out next to her.

Haleth fell asleep almost immediately, curled against Lalwen’s side, and Lalwen lay beside her, smiling a little. After a while, though, she extricated herself gently and slipped from the room, shutting the door as quietly as she could behind her.

 

-

 

_Hey sweet niece o niece of mine_

_Hi Aunt Lalwen. What’s up?_

_School’s end! The completion of secondary education! Your tremendous success!_

_When’s commencement again?_

_Next weekend. Saturday, 10am, at the ellipse._

_Beautiful. I shall be there with bells on._

_Literally, I hope._

_Of course. You’re familiar with my Morris troupe._

_I am._

_We’re very proud of you, golden girl. Can’t wait to hear your speech._

_Oh, don’t remind me._

_I’ve been practicing it on Teleporno but I’m still a little nervous…_

_Nervous? Our Artanis?_

_It is a thing that happens, on occasion._

_Say it ain’t so. No, you’ll be great, even if you just stammer on about rutabagas or something._

_Me and your brothers will whoop it up for you and embarrass you tremendously._

_Really? You’ll convince Ingo to whoop?_

_I won’t have to. He is proud to bursting of you, girl._

_If you say so._

_Yup._

_Anyway._

_As long as Aiko doesn’t rip his shirt off and swing it around like a Chippendales dancer at any point…_

 

_He might. He was very affected by Tyelko doing that last year._

 

_Yes, I’ve never seen someone do that while walking to receive their diploma._

_How do you think he got it off over his mortarboard?_

 

_Special Tyelko nudity magic._

_But anyway, I wanted to make sure I had all the info down so I could be there to cry over my youngest niece graduating and being valedictorian._

 

_You know you don’t have to come see ALL of us graduate, Auntie._

_Yes I do :-) See you Saturday._

 

Lalwen plugged in her phone to let it charge, sighed, and moved on to the stack of paperwork she’d been avoiding for the past week. She was flipping through gym finances when someone came into the kitchen, and she cocked her head when she saw it wasn’t Haleth.

“Moryo!” Lalwen scrutinized her nephew as he headed over to the counter, poured himself a coffee, and narrowed his eyes back at her. “You look…clean.”

“Yeah, basic hygiene and shit. What a world.”

“That coffee’s from this morning, fyi.” Lalwen tossed down her pencil on the stack of documents at her side. “No, I mean…you look nice.”

Caranthir took a sip of cold coffee and made a face. “Be less surprised.”

Lalwen tapped her lips thoughtfully, and then her eyes lit up in sudden revelation. “You have a DATE.”

“What? No, fuck off.” Caranthir dropped his cup into the sink and tried to escape, but Lalwen lunged up from the table, paperwork quite forgotten, and pursued him down the hallway.

“YOU DO, I CAN TELL. Who is it??”

“Will you give it a rest? Shit, you’re worse than my brothers.”

“Tell meeeeeee.”

“You are old enough to be my mother, stop acting like you’re Tyelko.”

Lalwen looked outraged and hit him upside the head. “Child, I am barely older than Maitimo, and _never_ compare me to your third oldest brother again. How dare you.”

“Leave me alone, you crazy old – _young_ , young, so young,” Caranthir amended hastily as Lalwen advanced threateningly on him. “Oh god, don’t make that face, you look just like dad.”

“You are on a roll for compliments today, aren’t you?” Lalwen had effectively chased Caranthir in a circle at this point, and they were back in the kitchen, Caranthir bumping into several chairs as he backed up. “Okay, fine, I’ll leave off.” She dropped down in a chair, propped her chin in one hand and scrubbed up her short spiky hair with the other. She sighed, and looked a little sad. “I suppose I thought we’d get closer, living together, you know? That maybe you’d open up a bit…Share with me…” She smiled ruefully. “I suppose it was too much to hope for.”

“You guilt tripping me?”

“Maybe. Is it working?”

“Look, Auntie, even Makalaurë doesn’t get the full dish from me, okay? I don’t like to talk about personal stuff, except maybe to Hal-” He broke off, looking horrified.

Lalwen raised her head from her hand, a truly wicked grin on her face.

“No…” said Caranthir slowly. “No, this is totally not cool…”

Lalwen let him squirm for a moment, then reached out and patted his arm. “Don’t worry, honeybun. We don’t talk about you together; we try and keep some boundaries, you know? Haleth wouldn’t violate your privacy. Your secrets are still safe with her.”

“Oh. Okay, cool.” Caranthir held still and then nodded. “Right, I gotta go. Not for a date,” he added, as Lalwen reached up to smooth down his rumpled hair. He scowled. “Knock it off. I’m...They asked me to swing by the brewery this evening to get oriented.”

“Oh.” Lalwen blinked. “Oh! You start with Telchar today!”

“Yeah. And Azaghâl. Over at Blue Hills. I’m trying to look…nice.” Caranthir glowered more deeply to cover his blush. “So give me a fucking break.”

“I’m sorry.” Lalwen looked repentant, and Caranthir shrugged. “Good luck at your first day.”

“Thanks.” Caranthir grabbed his jacket. “But for the record,” he said over his shoulder. “I did have a date _last_ night.” He smirked at Lalwen’s shocked delight, and dodged out the door.

“I want details!” Lalwen yelled after him.

“You won’t get ‘em!”

Haleth emerged from the bedroom, yawning. “What’s all the noise?”

“Nothing.” Lalwen beamed at Haleth’s messy hair and sleepy eyes and kissed her.

Haleth turned her face up and let herself be kissed. “Are you harassing Moryo? I shouldn’t allow that.”

“I’m allowed to harass him, I changed his diapers.”

“Recently? Gross.”

“When he was an infant, you literalist.”

“Leave him alone, girl.”

“Fine.” Lalwen kissed Haleth again and Haleth tilted agreeably into her arms. “But listen, forget everything I said about respecting his privacy, I’m going to need you to do some reconnaissance on this ‘date’…”

 

* * *

 

Familiar hands were tight on his hips, and there was a long body above him, pressing him into the mattress. Finrod gasped and reached back to brace himself against the headboard, locking his legs around a lean waist. The figure above him bent down to bite at his throat, and Finrod tipped his head back, moaning.

“Please…”

“Oh yeah? What do you want? Tell me.”

“ _More_.” He tried to elaborate, but the words dissolved into whimpers as a hand closed around him and lips sought his ear. “Oh, yes, that – _please_.” He gasped and wound his arms around the bent neck, digging his fingers into dark hair. He raised his head, just once, to brush the hair from the other’s eyes, and then he was being kissed breathless with a familiar rough tenderness that never failed to send electricity crackling through his body as he cried out, arching his hips.

“Oh god, Carnistir, _oh_ – ”

His orgasm swept over him and he dropped back to the sheets, dizzied with pleasure. And some sense of…wrongnesss…

 

Finrod sat bolt upright. Sweat coated his bare skin, making him shiver in the cool night air, but it wasn’t the chill that was making his hands tremble. Heart pounding, he reached over to the other side of the bed.

He let out a shaky sigh of relief. Of course it was empty, just as he had thought. Empty, as it had been every night he had spent in Turgon and Bëor’s spare room, on what was quickly becoming known as “Finrod’s Futon™”. Bëor had even made a sign.

It was just a dream.

But god, it had felt so real…

His relief ebbing fast, Finrod rose and slipped into the hall bathroom to clean himself up, and then padded down the hall to Turgon’s room. He pushed open the door quietly, and sat himself on the foot of Turgon’s bed, next to Turgon’s enormous old cat, Ulmo Junior. The cat was making wheezy little snoring noises as she sprawled over Turgon’s feet. Through the open window came the brief whooshing sounds of cars passing on the street below; it was a still, peaceful scene, and Finrod felt he had to break it or go crazy.

“Turukáno,” he said softly.

Turgon mumbled something and turned over.

“Turno.”

“Wfzl?”

“I need to talk to you.”

Turgon finally seemed to register his presence at last, and he sat up so fast that Ulmo Junior gave a growl of protest. Turgon pressed his hand to his heart. “ _Ingo_? What – What are you doing here? Oh my _god_ you scared me. Why are you in my room, what’s – ”

“I had a sex dream about Carnistir,” said Finrod urgently, and Turgon looked simultaneously appalled and incredulous.

“Seriously? _This_ you wake me up for? Ingo, you know how hard it is for me to fall asleep!”

“I’m sorry, but I needed– ”

“You needed to wake me up to tell me you had a, a – dream, about my cousin? _Our_ cousin? Ugh, I don’t want to know these things, why are you telling me?”

Finrod leaned forward, desperate, just missing planting his hand on Ulmo Junior’s fat belly, a move that would likely have proved fatal. “Because why did I dream it? What does it mean? What if – What if it means that – What if I – ”

But Turgon was dropping back into bed, arm over his eyes. “Ingoooo.”

Finrod stopped himself, and looked down. “I’m sorry.”

“Look, I might be better at this if I wasn’t so tired and stressed, but right now – I don’t think I have it in me. Can you go try Bëor? He’s good at being reassuring.”

“Bëor.” Finrod’s breath eased. “I forgot.”

“Yeah. He lives here too, I hear.”

“He _is_ good at being reassuring.” How many times, that first semester of college, had Bëor talked Finrod out of a school-related worry spiral?

“Yeah. And he has no sleep problems so he won’t murder you for waking him up, and will drop immediately back to sleep when you leave, unlike me, AUGH.”

“I’m sorry,” said Finrod again, contritely. “Try to get back to sleep, I’ll make it up to you with pastries in the morning. I’ll get them fresh for you from Cuivienen.”

“Hrggh.”

“I’ll get those chocolate and raisin rugelach you like.”

“Frmgh. Fine. Bye.”

Finrod rose from Turgon’s bed, removing himself from Ulmo Junior’s baleful gaze, and walked on quiet feet down the hallway to Bëor’s room where he knocked lightly on the doorframe.

“Bëor?”

“Mm. Yeah?” Bëor opened his eyes, registered Finrod as a ghostly shape in his doorway, and waved a sleepy hand from the blankets. “Tha’ you, Goldie? Wha’ssup?”

“I had a dream.”

“Nightmare?”

“No. Not…Not like that. But disturbing, nevertheless.”

“Mmk.” Bëor shook his head, messy hair falling into his eyes, but he was already sounding more coherent. “Get in, Goldie. Your feet’ll freeze ‘n’ fall off otherwise.”

Finrod crept under the covers next to Bëor, who seemed to be generating heat like a large, heavily furred thermonuclear reactor. It was profoundly reassuring.

“Now tell me about your disturbing dream, and why it disturbed you.”

“I had a sex dream about Carnistir,” whispered Finrod, resting his head on the pillow next to Bëor’s. “He’s…he’s the brother of my current…of who I’m seeing…well, he’s…”

“I know who he is.” Bëor rubbed sleep out of his eyes and dragged a large hand over his beard. “He was your last partner, huh?”

“Sexually, anyway. What does it mean that I’m dreaming of him? Does it mean I still want him? Does it mean I’m going to…to…” Finrod swallowed hard. “…to cheat on Curvo and sleep with Carnistir again? What if I’m just destined to want what I don’t have, just like Artanis said, what if the sex is more important to me than I thought, what if it’s like…like an addiction, and I can’t stop, and I keep hurting people, and…”

Bëor held up a hand. “Slow down, Goldie. You’re movin’ too fast. Look, almost ev’rybody has sex dreams about their exes. I have, even when I know I have no effing desire to be back with them, right? Sex dreams don’t mean anything, god, if they did that would mean I secretly wanted to have sex with that wacky old enviro professor with the nose and the funky smell.”

Despite his anxiety, Finrod laughed. “Really? You had a sex dream about – ”

“Ugh, let’s not talk about it. Point is that it doesn’t mean anything. And you having a sex dream about an ex is pretty logical, really. It’s still in your subconscious, just your brain barfing up memories. Yeah, you probably are still attracted to him, you may still want him some – it’s not like you two split up ‘cos you didn’t like fucking him anymore – but this is your brain at its basic processing and boner level. Your body gets turned on and wants shit, your brain looks for recent material, bam, there’s Carnivale, or whatever his name is. But your normal, awake, conscious Ingo mind knows that you want your boy, and presumably want to be faithful.”

Finrod smiled shakily. “I guess so…”

“You’re not destined to keep cheating or whatever.”

“I’m worried,” whispered Finrod, “I’ve messed up so many times, what if I mess up now? Curvo’s still young, and the physical component is _complicated_ , and I just don’t want to hurt him. I don’t want to screw him up, I want him to be happy and secure and comfortable, and I tell him the sex isn’t important, but what if my body and subconscious want it bad enough to do something stupid anyway, but I mean, god, I cheated in my past relationships and sex had nothing to do with it, so maybe I’m just a cheater, maybe it’s just in my makeup – ”

“You talked about this with him?”

“No.” Finrod turned his face into the pillow. “I mean, I’ve told him I’ll go as slow as he needs with the physical stuff, and that’s true, and that I’m in no rush, but what if I told him that and it’s _not_ true?”

“I mean, if you’re really hard up, just take care of yourself, like.” Bëor made an illustrative gesture.

“Yes, of course, but what if – ”

“If you get tempted to cheat,” said Bëor seriously, “you call me, and I’ll talk you down. And maybe you should think about talking about this stuff with your boyfriend.”

“It’ll scare him off.”

“I guess it might.”

“I feel like such a twisted pervert,” said Finrod, into the pillow. “Why can’t I just control myself?”

“You having a stronger sex drive than him doesn’t make you automatically a twisted pervert. And you _are_ controlling yourself, dude, having a sex dream about someone else isn’t actually doing anything wrong, or even a sign that you want to. You don’t want to hurt him.”

“I didn’t want to hurt Amarië, or Carnistir either. But I did, without even thinking twice.”

“Then maybe this is the difference,” said Bëor, propping himself on an elbow and swallowing a yawn. “You finally are starting to think twice. Maybe this is you getting your shit together. He knows your history, right?”

“Yes. And why he still wants to be with me after all that, I don’t know… But I guess I act the part, for him. I’m older and more experienced and that makes me responsible, and I’m trying to go carefully this time, and so I…”

“So you do that thing where you look like you have everything totally under control but underneath you’re scared to death.”

“Yes.”

“Story of adulthood, that,” mumbled Bëor, and rolled onto his back. “I know you wanna go carefully ‘cause he’s 18 and all…”

“He’s actually 19 now.”

“Much better. But just because he’s younger and less experienced doesn’t mean you shouldn’t treat him like an equal partner in this. Maybe you don’t have to be perfect around him. Maybe you can share a bit of this with him.”

“He’ll run.”

“Have some faith, little wiseass.”

“It’s myself I don’t have faith in,” said Finrod, and turned over on his side, curled up tight.

They didn’t say anything for a long time after that, and finally Bëor sighed and closed his eyes. “Feel free to stay,” he said, rolling over so they were back to back, and pulling the blankets up. “G’night, Goldie.”

“Good night,” whispered Finrod, but didn’t close his eyes. He stayed awake long into the night, staring blankly into the darkness, despite Bëor’s comforting heat and deep, even breathing.

 

 


	54. Never let your fear decide your fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Change is scary. Also sometimes it has teeth and will drop on you unawares and chew off your ear. In other news, Fingon is now established as a Steady and Responsible family member and we should all be alarmed.

“I just don’t know if it’s a good idea.” Turgon dropped a folded towel half-heartedly into the open box at his feet and then sat back on Aredhel’s bed, arms crossed and a worry line between his brows. “Have you thought this through?” It was a question he had asked his sister – and his brothers, for that matter – many, many times in their lives. Fingon sometimes said that it was Turgon’s role in life to ask the people around him if they had thought things through. Like, thoroughly, like all the possibilities, you know?

They usually hadn’t.

“Sure.” Aredhel grabbed an armload of books from the shelf by her desk and deposited them unceremoniously into another box. “I think it’s just the kind of thing I need.”

Turgon chewed his lip and smoothed the unfolded towel lying on the bed next to him. “But they’re not exactly…easy personalities to live with, you know? Tyelko isn’t the kind of person I’d recommend you being around if you want to avoid bad decisions, and Curvo is…Curvo is…”

“Curvo is dating your best friend.”

“Oh, like Ingo is known for his good decisions either.”

“Fair.”

“Those two are each a bit difficult in different ways, is what I’m saying. One of them is crazy and the other one is _scary._ ”

Aredhel smiled and threw an old school notebook into the recycling bin across the room. “But the crazy one loves me, and the scary one is scared of me, so that shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Even so, these aren’t the kind of roommates _I’d_ live with.”

“No one is asking you to.” Aredhel dropped a bookend, with a decisive thud, into the box.

Turgon jogged his leg restlessly, not put off. “Speaking of scary, what their father going to think about you moving into his house?”

“His sons’ house.”

“Same difference, and it's his name on the lease.”

“That’s just a technicality. Neither of them are speaking to him right now, so they probably want to see him even less than I do, which is a first.” Aredhel looked thoughtful. “If they stay estranged, I could go the whole summer without Uncle Fëanáro knowing I’m bunking there.”

“Yes, because we can always rely on Uncle Fëanáro to stay away when he’s not wanted.” Turgon sighed. “I know they’re our cousins, but – ”

“Cousins shmousins. They’re our _friends_.”

“If you say so, but they’re also…well. I know you and Tyelko are close, and have a history, but that’s not the same thing as finding a dependable and stable roommate. I don’t think you should rush into this. I think maybe it would be a good idea if you found a different living arrangement for the summer rather than jumping into this one.” Turgon uncrossed his legs, dropping one foot to the ground with an emphatic thump to punctuate his point.

“Who died and made you dad?” Aredhel grabbed the packing tape and began sealing up her box of books.

“I’m not trying to be dad – though for the record, I bet he’d agree with me – I’m just trying to get you to be reasonable about this! You need to be more – ”

“Yes, do tell me more of what I need to be.” Aredhel narrowed her eyes at Turgon who glared back at her. “You’re my brother, not my boss, and it would be nice if you could give me a _modicum_ of credit here. I have thought this through. I’ve been unhappy in my current situation for a while now, and my best friend just offered me the opportunity to stay with him rather than staying here and getting more depressed and isolated. And anyway, it’s just for the summer, it doesn’t necessarily need to be permanent. Can’t you just be happy for me?”

“I – I want you to be happy, of course I do! But – ” Turgon gasped and broke off as something silent and dark landed on his shoulder. “Oh my _god_.” His line of thought completely derailed, he reached up to push Lómion off his shoulder only to have the cat bite sharply at his ear. “Ouch!”

Aredhel grinned. “See, baby agrees with his momma.”

“Irissë, he’s drawing blood!”

“Down, kitten,” said Aredhel, and Lómion detached himself from Turgon’s earlobe and dropped to the ground.

Elenwë wandered in, a massive bundle in her arms and Idril tagging at her heels. “I come bearing bubble wrap!”

Aredhel peered over the massive swath of bubble wrap to Elenwë’s bright curls. “Why do I need bubble wrap? I’m moving, like, across town. The only breakable thing is Lómion.”

Elenwë clicked her tongue. “And all that nice dishware from your mom.”

“Oh, right.” Aredhel scratched her head. “I forgot about the kitchen and stuff.”

“See? I am a savior.” Elenwë attempted to twirl, tripped, and dropped the bubble wrap, which Aredhel immediately scooped up.

Idril padded over to Turgon to say hello with a head-butt to the shins, before starting to wash herself at his feet. Lómion watched her with wide, pale eyes.

“Hmm, what’s this on the floor? Something delicate and breakable! I’m on it.” Aredhel began busily enfolding Elenwë in bubble wrap.

“Don’t call me delicate, you – Oh, _help_.” Elenwë flailed at her, but Aredhel was too quick, and soon Elenwë was a helpless, laughing bundle swathed in bubble wrap.

Aredhel sat back on her heels, looking pleased. “Perfect! Now I can move you across town without bits breaking off.”

Elenwë kicked a leg free. “I’ll break _your_ bits off if you don’t – mff!” Her threat was stifled by Aredhel kissing her soundly on the lips. They broke apart quickly though, Elenwë nudging Aredhel as Turgon averted his eyes and concentrated on folding another one of Aredhel’s towels.

Elenwë finally managed to extract herself from packing material and stood up. “Turno, I’ve been meaning to double-check with you that this really wouldn’t be an imposition or anything. Are you _sure_ it’s okay for you to take Idril for the summer while I’m away?”

“Of course.” Turgon scratched Idril’s ears. “I like cats – Well, cats that aren’t hellions.” Lómion gave one of his silent meows. “Idril seems pretty low maintenance. And Ulmo Junior might be a curmudgeon but she probably won’t even notice; if it’s not actively depriving her of food she doesn’t care about much of anything. But why can’t Irissë take her?”

“I would,” said Aredhel ruefully, “but she and Lómion aren’t the best match.”

As if to illustrate her point, Lómion, who had been creeping up on Idril, gave a leap and made to attack her tail. Quick as blinking, Idril whipped around and cuffed him around the ears with one white paw. Lómion fell back, his mouth opening in a silent, complaining mew.

“I’ve told you before,” Aredhel scolded, bending down to scoop him up, “stop stalking her!” Lómion looked at her with large, betrayed eyes.

“It’s okay, she can take care of herself.” Elenwë tried to tickle Idril’s ears in passing as Idril did one of her quick, joyful sprints of the room. “Ireth, we really need to start packing up the fragile stuff, though, can you come take a look at all the kitchen things? I only have another hour and then I’ve got to get back to my own packing.”

“Yes, be there in a sec.” Aredhel tucked Lómion under her arm and looked back at her brother. “Turno, you don’t have to help me pack if you really disapprove so much. But I _am_ moving in with Tyelko and Curvo, with your blessing or without it.” Despite the firmness of her words, there was no heat in her tone, and she looked at him with fond patience. “I appreciate that you worry about me, though.”

Turgon sighed from the bottom of his feet, and then pulled out his phone. “Okay, hang on.”

“What are you doing? Are you calling someone? Oh, please don’t try to get Finno to agree with you, he’d be on my side, anyway…”

“I’m not calling Findekáno. I’m calling Glorfindel.”

Aredhel blinked, taken aback. “Wait, why?”

“Because he’s the only person I know with a truck,” said Turgon, listening to the phone ring on the other end of the line. “And I know you need help getting your stuff over to the house. Shh, he’s picking up,” he said as Aredhel, looking touched, started to say something. “Hey, Glorfindel, it’s Turgon. How do you feel about playing escort today? No, not like _that_ , hush, my sister just needs a hand getting across town to our cousins…”

Smiling, Aredhel crossed the room, bent to drop a kiss onto Turgon’s dark head, and then made her way to the kitchen to make the most of Elenwë’s hour.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Elenwë had been unsure, for many years, if she should continue with ballet. She had always felt that she couldn’t possibly fit in to such a world: she was too short, too far from slender or dainty, her curves too soft, her skin too brown. She did not look like the ballerinas she had grown up watching, worshipping, or dancing beside.

Then she had gone to college, and in her sophomore year, auditioned for the dance ensemble. There she had met Amarië, who had told her about the studio where she took ballet classes, the studio where their troupe sometimes met, the studio at Deer Hollow where the founder of their ensemble taught. And there, Elenwë had met Nessa.

Nessa, _the_ Nessa, who was elegance and grace personified; Nessa, who had gained the epithet _fleet-footed_ during her European tour for her impossibly swift footwork; Nessa, who was beautiful and talented and lauded around the world; Nessa, whose skin was darker than Elenwë’s own.

“People will always find excuses to tell you no,” Nessa said to Elenwë once, in her soft, rich voice. “They told me my bust was too big, my hips too wide, my shoulders too broad. They hated the way I put on muscle, the fact that I would never look tiny or delicate. They told me no for countless reasons, not the least of which was the color of my skin. But I have learned that ‘not looking the part’ is never a good enough reason to quit something you love. Looking how they think a dancer should look has nothing to do with your ability to dance; you already look like a dancer, because a dancer is what you _are_.” She had smiled then, and laid a hand on Elenwë’s shoulder. “And you are one of the most technically gifted dancers in my studio, so I’d hate to lose you. Selfish of me, I know.”

Elenwë had stayed, and the Deer Hollow studio had become a second home.

She almost hadn’t come to class today, too overwhelmed by the luggage strewn across the floor of her apartment, the complaining cat wondering why everything looked different, and her gnawing anxiety about Aredhel. But Amarië, having received a stream of increasingly hysterical texts from her, had shown up at her door, pointed with surprising fierceness to her dance bag, and told her to get her ass in gear.

Now Nessa was pacing beside the barre as she led them through their warm-up, and Elenwë closed her eyes as she worked to focus on opening up her hips rather than all the worries crowding in at the edge of her thoughts. She tried to let Nessa’s musical voice drown out all her clamoring worries.

“Looser elbows, Amarië, soften your arms. You hold the tension at the base of your neck and it travels all the way down through your body and makes you stiffen up – let that go.”

 _Tension_. Elenwë turned out her feet and thought about what she had found under Aredhel’s bed as she helped her back, feeling her throat close up with worry.

 _Tension_. She thought about her carefully packed bags, and her carefully typed itinerary for her travel to Chicago. How she hated airports, how she hated travel, how she hated change. What would be waiting for her at the other end?

 _Tension_. She thought of –

“Breathe, Elenwë.” A gentle voice at her ear. Elenwë jumped, and looked up. Nessa was beside her, looking down at her with kind amber eyes.

“What?”

“You haven’t drawn in a breath this whole movement,” said Nessa, and she laid a hand between Elenwë’s shoulder blades. Elenwë immediately exhaled in a rush and then tried to breathe in to Nessa’s light touch.

_Tension._

“We must remember to breathe,” said Nessa, and there was understanding in how she looked at Elenwë. “Something too self-evident to need the reminder, one would think, but not so. Our instinct is to lock everything down when we feel we are losing control, but it is important to keep breathing and to stay open. Breathe into the knotted spots,” a hand on the back of her neck, “the tight spots,” a touch just below her ribs, “the fear.”

Elenwë felt tears prick in her eyes. She blinked them back fiercely and raised her arms, trying to capture the graceful defiance that Nessa always seemed to embody in her performances. She breathed, she breathed again. She felt a knot loosen. Tension uncoiled.

Amarië glanced back over her shoulder, and caught her eye, flashing her a brief, sympathetic smile.

Elenwë let herself open.

Nessa smiled, and paced on.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Curufin had the distinct feeling he was being watched. He looked over his shoulder and jumped. The skinny black cat with the large, pale eyes was sitting on his floor, tail tucked around its feet, eyes fixed on him. Well, not exactly on him. On the blinking lines of text streaming across Curufin’s computer screen.

Curufin tried to glare. “Stop it. Go away.”

The cat ignored him, eyes fixed on the computer.

“Er. Scat. Shoo.” Curufin waved an impatient hand. CLBRMBR was compiling and he was eager to troubleshoot the most recent set of additions, not deal with this unsettling creature sitting on his floor. TYLPE had been acting up, again, and he was already frustrated and short-tempered from the ongoing battle with his code. More than once he’d been tempted to abandon the project all together, convinced it wasn’t worth the trouble. And now, right when he thought he’d worked out the worst of the kinks, the least expected and most irritating side effect of Aredhel moving in was distracting him from his work. He glowered, and tried to remember what one did to frighten cats. He attempted to imitate Celegorm’s sharp, authoritative tone when Huan was misbehaving. “GIT. Get _out_ of – ”

Lómion, completely ignoring him, crouched down, hindquarters wiggling.

“NO – ”

The cat launched himself full tilt at the computer screen.

 

-

 

Aredhel was in her room, opening boxes and trying to figure out how best to fit the contents of an entire apartment into one small bedroom. Carefully setting aside the few things Maedhros had left in the room when he’d moved out – a couple sweatshirts, some books, a framed picture of Fingon – Aredhel opened up the trash bags containing her clothes and started to hang things in the closet. From down the hallway came a sudden bang and crash, followed by a storm of swearing. Coming to the door curiously, Aredhel peered out just in time for Curufin to stomp across the hall, holding the cat at arm’s length.

“ _Take your creature_.”

“Oops.” Aredhel held out her arms, wincing apologetically. “Sorry, I know he’s not supposed to be in your room…”

“IT HAS AN OBSESSION WITH MY COMPUTER AND IT IS NOT OKAY.”

“He just likes blinky thingies…”

“CLBRMBR IS NOT A BLINKY THINGY.”

“Uh. What’s a Celerberber?” Aredhel took Lómion, who was hissing silently. “And he doesn’t like being scruffed.”

Curufin made an outraged but noiseless sound, and Aredhel grinned. He’d looked, briefly, just like the flustered cat in her arms. “Doesn’t like – like I care about his – doesn’t like being scruffed, does he? Well, he can register his disapproval for how I handle him when he STOPS TRYING TO ATTACK MY TECHNOLOGY.” Curufin shook his hands, trying to get the cat hair off them. “He’s weird, Irissë, you have a very deranged animal there. He’s only been here a day and I’ve already caught him in my room twice – TWICE. Once asleep on my desk – and I’ll just tell you what havoc cat fur wreaks on a keyboard – and once trying to concuss himself on my computer screen. What is his _problem_? He hasn’t broken into Tyelko’s room, I’ll note.”

“That’s because of the dog,” Aredhel explained, as Lómion slunk up to her shoulder and buried himself in her hair. “Huan loves on him too hard and Lómion doesn’t like it.”

“Hah. Well, that I can understand.” Curufin looked briefly distracted. “But nevertheless, if I find him in my room rubbing himself on my computer equipment ONE MORE TIME, I will make him into something small, practical, and dead.”

“You could try mittens,” said Celegorm, who’d come up behind Curufin silently, making him jump. “You might want to wait until he’s bigger, you know, get more bang for your buck, but I think he’d make a decent pair of mittens. Or, like, a beret.”

“Berets are tacky.”

“Word. But for an animal that size you don’t get much from their furs, though there’s this technique Oromë showed me for skinning small – ”

Celegorm stopped talking abruptly as Aredhel advanced on him.

“This is all very amusing,” she said softly. “This talk of murdering my cat and turning him into clothing. But if either of you lay a single finger on him…”

“We were joking,” said Celegorm hastily, and as Aredhel rounded on Curufin, he echoed, “Joking!”

“Good.”

“But seriously,” Curufin said, very quietly, as Aredhel went back to hanging clothes. “Keep him away from my shit.”

 

* * *

 

 

Fingon very carefully shut off his computer. He tucked his laptop and a couple files into his briefcase, grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, and had just texted Maedhros, _‘try not to faint babe but i might actually be home before dark tonight_ ’ when there was a rap on his office door and one of the file clerks poked her head in.

Fingon waved frantically at her. “Nonono. I’m done for the day, I’m going home, pretend you don’t see me. Off the clock, off the clock, off – ”

“It’s a call from the Tirion office,” said the clerk apologetically, and Fingon groaned. “It’s Findis.”

“Findis? Really? Okay, I guess I better take it.” Fingon collapsed back into his chair and buried his face in his hands briefly before looking back up. “Patch her through.”

The clerk disappeared, and shortly thereafter, Fingon’s phone rang. He raised his head and picked it up, immediately banishing exhaustion for an easy and confident mien. He tipped back in his chair, spinning a pencil between his fingers. “Hey, how’s it going with my favorite CFO? That bastard Fingolfin making you work late, too?”

Half an hour later, Fingon hung up with a heavy sigh and the clerk came back into the room. “Anything you need me to do?”

“Ughh.” Fingon laid his head on his desk briefly. “They got the final versions of the contracts.”

“Let me guess,” said the clerk. “The manufacturer is happy with it, but the unions – ”

“Aren’t,” said Fingon. “To say the least. Can you – ”

“I’ll get Bëor on your schedule for first thing tomorrow,” said the clerk, making a note in her phone.

“Thanks. Let’s try to keep this off my dad’s desk if at all possible.”

Fingon finally escaped from the office and made it to the bus stop just in time to see his bus pull away.

“Oh goddammit.” Fingon considered yelling and throwing his briefcase into the bushes in frustration, but decided he was too tired. Instead he cast himself down on the bench, resigned to waiting, and in the meantime pulled out his phone.

_sooo it is only now that i’m leaving the office…_

_sorry!_

_No worries, I know how it is there._

_I can handle dinner, just get yourself home._

_Are you good with…um, fish sticks and peas?_

 

_hahaha sure lay it on me .its good that theres at least one aspect of my life that is not at all adult or well managed_

 

_Are you calling me that part of your life?_

_no, just our eating habits._

_oh but hey, my sister’s moving into your old room today! You’ve cleaned that out, right? She’s not going to stumble on anything that will scar her for life?_

 

_She should be fine._

_Anything of an intimate nature that I didn’t move with me to your place I just threw away._

 

_THREW AWAY? Mae. some of that was expensive!_

_I’ll reimburse you. there was no way I was ever going to use it._

_um excuse me u looked super hot in the black leather_

_Disagree. I don’t feel comfortable with that many buckles, anyway._

_> :-((((_

_I do just fine without the leather and straps, don’t I?_

_yeah…._

_Finno_

_If you insist on sounding so disappointed I’m going to be hurt_

_babe you know you do it for me no matter what ;)_

_i shall live without the black leather. SIGH_

_i’ll see u soon_

_The fish sticks and I will be waiting_

 

Fingon was just about to put his phone back in his pocket when it rang. He looked at the number, grinned, and answered it.

“Hey, Káno, how’s it going?”

Fingon leaned back against the bench and draped his arm over it, loosening his tie with one hand and undoing the top button of his shirt. Outside the air-conditioned office it was already far too warm in his suit. “You caught me in home-work limbo, end of a ten hour day. Can you believe I’m such an office bitch? And that I spend my day actually fixing problems and being a damn diplomat? I swear the salary ain’t worth having to fake this much responsibility. I’m sorry, you’re right, that’s inconsiderate of me. I shouldn’t complain about my job when some people are off in the big city being starving artists, but dude, at least you’re having fun. I feel like I went straight from 25 to 40, complete with grey hair and a 401k. I’m not whining, I’m just spitting truth! Wait, hold up, why _are_ you calling me?”

He listened for a moment, then laughed. “Ohh, hah, yep, the rumors are true. A Nolofinwion has successfully infiltrated Fortress Fëanorion. Yes, _absolutely_ she’s reporting her findings back to me, high-level espionage, we anticipate a complete take over by the end of the summer. Yes, all your father’s worst fears will be confirmed. But don’t worry, she’s in Nelyo’s old room, not yours.”

Fingon paused as a truck roared past. “Sorry, traffic. Hey, how’s stuff going down there? I hear from Nelyo that it’s a bit exciting… What? No, of course I… I don’t know what you’re talking about. What? No, no, Maitimo would _never_ betray your confidence – ” He winced, then made a face. “Yes, okay, okay, I know about the whole thing. He didn’t tell me, for the record, I overheard his half of his conversation with you, and he did say ‘THREEWAY?’ pretty effing loudly. I know, he’s really bad at secrets. Right? And the nerve of him, saying _I_ lack all subtlety… So yeah, you and the other two music nerds, huh. That’s pretty hot to picture, not gonna lie.”

He held the phone away from his ear as Maglor’s voice raised. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to objectify you! Seriously. But is it weird now that’s it’s just the two of you? Uh huh. Yeah, I bet. But wait, was there really never any, like, tension between you guys before? Really? I always kinda got the vibe… Yeah, I know about the stories those groupies of yours used to write. I know it was mostly fictional but I still wondered… Hahaha, I’m sorry, sorry, I’ll stop. Wait, what? Really? So Ría leaves and – Oh, geez.”

Fingon ran his hand through his hair as he listened for a long while. “But seriously, it sounds kind of tense between you guys right now. You may be friends and part-time lov– fine, two thirds of a friendly threeway and one-time blowjob compatriots – but you were clearly never meant to be roommates. Like, fundamentally incompatible. Why don’t you come home for a bit? It sounds like you could use the break. See if Cuiviénen will take you back part-time. You can always go back for some recording later.”

He looked up as a rumble approached. “Hey, Makalaurë, I gotta go. I can call you back later, but you should totally talk to Mae about this.” He rummaged in his pocket for his wallet and bus pass. “Really? Naw, he wouldn’t judge… But look, you can call me if you need to talk to someone who’s not your brother. And I won’t tell if you don’t want me to. I’m better at secrets than Maitimo thinks.” The bus doors opened and he stepped on, swiping his card. “Take care of yourself, Káno. And really, you should come back for a bit, it’ll do you good.” He paused, shaking his head. “Dang, I sound like my dad. Okay, bye for real.”

The bus doors closed behind him, and Fingon collapsed in the first empty seat he came to, letting out a deep sigh. He dragged a hand through his hair once more and looked out the window. The setting sun painted long fingers of color across the darkening sky, and Fingon closed his eyes as he leaned his head back against the glass.

So much for being home before dark.

 

 


	55. Darling do what you’re told

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Finwions may singlehandedly keep Cuiviénen in business.

Summer.

Finrod knew that, to rights, he should be feeling relieved and (relatively) relaxed. After all, summer meant no more students, no more recitations to lead, no more office hours, no more papers and midterms to grade, no more desperate and complaining and panicky students to avoid and/or coddle, and no more harassed and grumpy professors to avoid and/or coddle.

But it also meant other, less pleasant things. It meant the end of another year, and another year closer, in theory, to the answer to that constant question: “So when are you thinking of defending?” with the close second: "What's next for you?" It meant another year closer to the end of grad school, a year closer to the real world, and real decisions, and an uncertainty that frightened Finrod more than he would let anyone know. Summer meant Olórin turning to him suddenly over a filing cabinet, as they sorted syllabi, and saying, his eyes under wild grey brows very sharp and bright, “We should be discussing getting a dissertation outline in front of your committee, hm?”

Summer was, in other words, simply a time where Finrod had enough space to actually contemplate the things the school year had been so good at keeping distant. It was therefore, he thought, as he stared down at his notebook, in which he’d doodled a highly detailed study of a geranium but written no notes, a _thankless bitch._

Nevertheless, he had hauled himself out of 'Finrod’s Futon™' at 7am that morning, showered, exchanged smiles with Turgon over coffee, narrowly avoided treading on Ulmo Junior’s tail, and set out for the coffee shop and a day of work. He ordered a large iced latte, set himself up in his favorite window, laid a stack of books and journal articles next to him, and opened his notebook.

And drawn a geranium.

It hadn’t been his _fault_ that some overzealous coffee shop worker had decorated every table with a small decorative vase, had it? He should complain, he thought, tapping his pencil and then absently adding some cross-hatching, about the absurdly unnecessary and distracting flower vases. He smiled to himself, thinking that Curufin would likely approve of flower related complaints, and his mind wandered pleasantly for a while.

_Focus._

Finrod shook his head, a little amazed at himself. Focus had so rarely been an issue for him, historically, that it was borderline shocking to have to drag his attention back to work. He grabbed the paper from the top of the pile, and started to read.

Two hours later found him still poring over the pile of papers, his head propped on one hand as he highlighted key sections and paused periodically to take sips of his latte. Totally absorbed in his work, he jumped when two people sat down opposite him, bumping his knees under the table.

“Um, excuse me, I’m using this table – ”

“Hey, bro.”

“How goes the work, Ingoldo?”

Finrod drew his feet under his chair and raised his eyes, taken aback. One of the people opposite him was very tall, with wild, spiky hair, and was wearing a pair of aviators, even indoors. The other was almost equally tall, but her hair was waist length and caught back with a simple blue headband. Both were aggressively blond, aggressively cheek-boned, and very familiar.

His siblings.

“Sorry to interrupt,” said Aegnor, not looking particularly sorry. “But we should talk.”

“Yes,” said Galadriel. “This conversation is long overdue, in fact.”

Finrod laid down his highlighter carefully and raised his eyebrows with a certain amount of apprehension. “Oh?”

“You haven’t been home in like…weeks.”

“You’re not sleeping in your bed.”

“You’re not eating meals at home.”

“As far as we can tell, you’ve been wearing a combination of three different outfits – mixed in with pieces we can only assume are from Turgon’s wardrobe? – for, again, weeks.”

“One has to wonder how often you’re doing laundry.”

“One has to wonder how you’ve been able to bear being that sartorially redundant.”

“Is there something you’d like to tell us?”

Two pairs of eyes fixed on him as Aegnor pushed his sunglasses up on his forehead.

Finrod forced himself not to look at the geranium instead of at his sister and brother. “Um…”

But they didn’t let him finish. They leaned forward simultaneously, hands folded on the table. They looked very serious, but Finrod noted the hint of a grin at the corner of Aegnor’s mouth, and Galadriel’s eyes were twinkling.

“It’s time to come clean.”

“It’s time to give Turno his shirts back.”

“Everyone knows what’s going on.”

“They do?” Finrod himself was completely lost.

“Everyone knows you would never have bought a hooded sweatshirt for yourself.”

“The jig is up.”

Blond eyebrows arched knowingly in concert as Finrod watched in fascination, wondering if ‘synchronized eyebrowing’ was an Olympic sport. It should be.

“You’ve moved on.”

“You’ve moved out.”

“You’ve moved in with Turukáno.”

Finrod opened his mouth, but his sister and brother didn’t let him talk.

“We didn’t want to rush you, or pressure you.”

“We haven’t said anything because we thought you might still come back.”

“Which would have been fine, of course.”

“But you didn’t.”

“And we started to feel a little bad about taking your rent money, y’know?”

“So we talked to Bëor.”

“And Turukáno.”

“Seems like they’ve kind of assumed you’ve moved in with them already.”

“This explains that one ‘You bet your kielbasa I’m Polish’ t-shirt.”

“What, were you tired of borrowing from Turukáno? At least he’s closer to your size.”

“But that Bëor, he’s a giver.”

Finrod tried not to laugh. “Listen, you two – ”

Once again, they ignored him.

“So both your former and current roommates know you’ve moved…”

“…it’s just you who hasn’t yet acknowledged this fact.”

“Are you aware of it?”

They waited patiently.

Finrod reached for his drink and held it in front of him like an unconscious shield. “I –I wasn’t sure of the best way to tell you, and I hadn’t confirmed with Bëor and Turno that it was actually okay if I moved in with them.”

“We thought as much."

"That’s why we did it for you. Consider it confirmed.”

Aegnor bent forward and slurped at the straw of Finrod’s drink. “Oh, gross, is that soy milk? You should probably start paying them rent at some point, though.”

Galadriel reached over to borrow Aegnor’s aviators as the sun came out from behind a cloud and slanted sharply through the window and into her eyes. “Actually, we took initiative and signed over your latest rent check to them.”

Finrod moved his drink to the other side of the table and shook his head, trying to keep up. “You mean you’ve already essentially moved me into a new place?”

Aegnor stole the glass back, took another drink, and made a face. “Pretty much.”

Galadriel blinked ruminatively behind the sunglass lenses. “Are you ever going to get your belongings, though? Because if not…”

“…There’s some shit we would take.”

“Teleporno would like that green sweater of yours.”

“And we could always sell the rest.”

“No,” said Finrod firmly. “Before you ransack my belongings I should come and sort through them and pack most of them up.”

“Excellent, it’s a plan.”

They got up, as abruptly as they arrived. Aegnor patted Finrod on the back, and Galadriel gave a rare smile.

“We’ll see you Friday.”

“I will?” Finrod felt at sea once again.

“Yep. Dad wants us all home for Shabbat. Good luck with your work, Ingo.”

“Good luck with your new roommates, Ingo.”

“Good luck with your new _boyfriend_ , Ingo.”

And like that, they were gone.

Finrod sighed and put his head down on his work. “The hit and run culture in this family has GOT to stop,” he said, to no one in particular, and let his highlighter drop to the ground.

Then he picked it up again to add some vivid and unlikely yellow to the petals of his geranium, and smiled.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Celegorm walked through the kitchen door and straight into Curufin’s glare.

“Where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you for hours.”

“Why, is something wrong?” Celegorm cocked his head and looked Curufin up and down, examining him for damage.

“No. I wanted to know what we were doing for dinner.”

Celegorm rolled his eyes. “Right, ‘cuz that couldn’t have waited until I got home.”

“But what if it _was_ something wrong?” Curufin followed Celegorm to the refrigerator as he pulled it open and grabbed a beer. “What if I had really needed you and been unable to reach you? I could die, helpless and alone, and you – ”

“Christ, kid, lighten up.” Celegorm smacked the top of his beer against the countertop to open it. “Wasn’t Irissë home?”

“Oh, like she would save me if I were dying.”

“She might do it as a favor for me. Dude, I was hiking with Oromë in the Whites, we were out of range. I think the entire state of New Hampshire is out of cell service, actually. I turned off my phone so I wouldn’t kill the battery.”

“Out of range, sure. You just didn’t want to be interrupted while humping in poison ivy or whatever you get up to out there.”

Celegorm grinned. “You think I wouldn’t recognize poison ivy before choosing a spot to fuck? Anyway, I’m more into summit blowjobs than rolling around in some sketchy field.”

“Disgusting. I pity the Cub Scout troop that attempts any peak _you’re_ summiting. You should get booked for public indecency.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Celegorm took a long drink. “Look, I’m turning on my phone now, happy?”

“No. I don’t need you to turn it on now, now I have you in person and can ask what we’re having for – ”

“Did you leave me a voicemail?” Celegorm was staring at his phone.

“What? No.”

“Then shut up, I need to listen to this.”

Curufin tried to say something, but Celegorm, who was holding his phone to his ear, put his hand over Curufin’s mouth, stifling him. “Shh.”

_Hi sweetheart, it’s mom. I know it’s been a while, so hope this message doesn’t come as too much of an unpleasant surprise, but I wanted to…check in. I hope your summer’s going well so far. We’ve been doing okay, though your little brothers tried to turn the trellis into a climbing wall and tore down my clematis, so now they’re on gardening duty for the next month. Anyway, I’m going to try and avoid running out your voicemail and cut straight to the point.  I understand if you’re not up for coming by the house, but it’s been too long since we’ve caught up. Do you think you could manage breakfast with me tomorrow? I hope so, because I’m not actually taking no for an answer. Call or text me to confirm, but I’m going to be at Pallando’s at 9 tomorrow. I’ll see you then._

Curufin wriggled free of Celegorm’s hand and looked at him. “Was that – ”

“Mom.” Celegorm lowered the phone from his ear and stared at it blankly. “She wants to get breakfast tomorrow. And…talk.”

“Oh.”

“Is this an ‘oh shit’ moment or should I be reassured that she’s not just showing up at our place and yelling?”

“I don’t know.”

Celegorm groaned and slumped against the counter. “You don’t ever not know things.”

“Not often, no.” Curufin folded his arms and leaned up next to Celegorm. “Well, however it turns out, you’ll have backup.”

“Huh?”

“Tomorrow. I’m going with you. Not to breakfast,” Curufin amended, as Celegorm started to say anything, “but I’ll be around the corner. Just in case you need me.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Nerdanel grabbed her purse and tucked a curl of hair back behind her ear as she opened the car door. Fëanor leaned after her from the driver’s side.

“Do you have everything?”

“Purse, phone, dignity, check.”

“Did you make a reservation? Sometimes this place fills up.”

“I’m all set, Fëanáro.”

“And are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

Nerdanel stepped out of the car and smiled at him. “Love, he’s our son. I’m getting breakfast with him. He’s not someone I’m meeting with muskets at dawn.”

“You wouldn’t duel with muskets. Pistols, maybe.”

“I wouldn’t duel with either.” Nerdanel leaned through the open window for a kiss, and he obliged her. “You know me, brass knuckles or nothing.”

“I’ll be around the corner!” he called, as she stepped away and the car behind them in traffic honked at him for double-parking. “I’m going to get a coffee and read the paper – you know where to find me if you need me.”

“I always do.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Nerdanel ordered ‘The Belgian’, waffles with strawberries and whipped cream. Celegorm ordered ‘The Heart Attack’, fried eggs and fried potatoes with bacon, sausage, and ham.

“You’re lucky you’ve got young and bendy arteries,” said Nerdanel, watching him eat.

“Yep.” Celegorm crunched on a strip of bacon. “I gotta take advantage of it while I can. So the demons got into your flowers, huh? Man, you should put up a fence like you did when the deer were killin’ your carrots.”

“It didn’t work. They knocked down the fence.” Nerdanel took a sip of her coffee. “The best cure for the deer was giving you a slingshot for your birthday.”

Celegorm laughed. “Hah. I forgot about that. You said I couldn’t use it on my brothers, so – ”

“So your only targets were my nemeses, those pointy four-legged buggers.”

“I did fuck up – uh, mess up – your gardens other times, though.” Celegorm scraped some of his hash browns onto Nerdanel’s plate when he caught her looking wistfully at them. “I think I bent all your lilies – ”

“They were echinacea.”

“ – diving for a football one time. But that wasn’t my fault, it was Nelyo’s. Someone needed to teach that dweeb to throw.”

“You did wreck a fair amount of havoc on the verge, it’s true.” Nerdanel ate some potato with her fingers. “But still, and maybe because there’s two of them, sometimes I think the chickens have one up on you for creating messes.”

Celegorm looked at her over the table, dead on for the first time since they sat down. “No mess as big as fucking my coach though, huh.”

Nerdanel looked back at him.

The moment stretched between them.

“None quite like that, no.”

Another moment.

“I think you must have inherited your bluntness from me,” said Nerdanel, presently. “Your father is confrontational but circumspect – You and I are more like bulls. We plow into things head on.”

“Yeah,” said Celegorm, still not looking away. “How do you think I got ‘im into bed in the first place?”

“You’re trying to make me uncomfortable,” Nerdanel observed. “Give me the rest of your hash browns.”

Celegorm pushed his plate across the table. “I don’t wanna spend the whole morning dancing around the topic,” he said. “I’m not Curvo, that’s not my style, I don’t get any thrills from talking about shit without actually talking about it. Are you here to lecture me? I’m pretty bad at listening to lectures. You here to convince me to leave Oromë? Because no way in fuck is that happening.”

“Language, Tyelkormo,” said Nerdanel, without heat, and Celegorm muttered, “Sorry.”

“I’m not here to lecture you,” she said. “I miss you. I don’t do estrangement anymore than you do dancing around topics. You’re my sweet boy, and I love you, and even when you’re a jackass – excuse _my_ language – you are my baby and I support you no matter what.”

Celegorm looked down at his plate and mumbled, “I love you too, ma.”

“I talked to your – to Coach – to Oromë,” said Nerdanel. “A while ago. I suppose he told you?”

“Yeah.”

“It wasn’t easy. I wanted to punch him in the face – another tendency I imagine you have inherited from me – but mostly, I wanted to be incandescently angry with him.” She sighed. “It would be easier if I didn’t still, despite myself, find him so…not a creep. I suppose I’m both glad and disappointed that he’s not a creep. Glad, for your sake. Disappointed for mine. It would make him easier to detest.” She dipped her finger in a pile of whipped cream. “Your father doesn’t find it hard to hold onto his anger, but I do. Especially when I see how much that man – I mean, your – Well, how much Oromë loves you.”

Celegorm looked up. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Does that mean you’re okay with it?”

Nerdanel laughed. “Oh, sweetheart. This is not some overnight thing that I’m just going to come to terms with and suddenly feel totally at peace. You’re going to have to give me some time, and you’re going to have to make an effort to see where I’m coming from. But I know you’re an adult, and you’ve made your choice, and whether I’m okay with it or not, you’re going to keep living your life. So let’s just…cut each other some slack, okay? Can we both accept that this is a learning curve, and we’re still figuring it out?”

“Yeah,” said Celegorm, and broke into a crooked smile. “Yeah, I think we can manage that.”

Nerdanel finished her coffee. “Good, I’m glad we have that sorted out. Now give me the gossip on your brothers. Have you heard anything from Káno in New York? Why is Moryo _really_ living with Lalwen? And what’s new in Curvo’s life? Though I suppose with that one we know the sailing is pretty smooth.”

“Uh,” said Celegorm. “I think I’m gonna need to order some more bacon.”

 

-

 

Some time later, Nerdanel put money down on the table and stood, Celegorm along with her. She looked up at him, smiling.

“You got some sun, boyo.” She tapped the freckles on his nose. “Haven’t you heard of sunscreen?”

“I was in the mountains this weekend,” he said, and grinned as she put an arm around his waist. He squeezed her shoulders in return. “I gotta catch up to your level at some point, right?”

Nerdanel wrinkled up her rosy, freckly face. “I’m afraid you’ll never have it quite as good as I do.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Having escorted Celegorm to the door of Pallando’s – a service that Celegorm had rolled his eyes at, but given him a swat of affection as they parted – Curufin turned down the block to Cuiviénen. Lost in thought, he didn’t register much beyond the jingle of the bell as he stepped through the door and turned toward his favorite table by the window. He looked up and froze, one hand extended towards the back of the chair he was about to pull out.

His father was sitting on the other side of the table, watching him with mild surprise.

Curufin opened his mouth, but no words came out. He started to withdraw his hand and back away, but Fëanor beckoned to him.

“Have a seat, Curufinwë.”

“I – I don’t – ”

Fëanor sighed with familiar impatience. “Don’t be silly. We’re in the same place at the same time, I’m sure for the same reason – Come sit down.”

Warily, his heart beating faster than he thought was necessary, Curufin slowly pulled out the chair and sat. They looked at each other over the table for an instant, and then Curufin looked determinedly down. Unwilling to meet his father’s gaze, he poked instead at the vase in the middle of the table, twisting at the petals of a red flower there. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he looked at his father just now – either he’d see something in his father’s face he couldn’t bear, or he’d be unable to resist blurting out a childish apology.

_I never should have stopped talking to you, I made such a mistake, I’ve made a lot of mistakes, and –_

_And. I miss you._

_None of this has gone as I planned._

“Are you missing something?”

Curufin started. “What?”

Fëanor gestured with his own cup of coffee. “Are you planning on purchasing anything, or were you going to annoy the proprietors by sitting in their establishment without giving them any business?”

“Oh.” Curufin dropped his hand to his pocket, automatically feeling for his wallet, but Fëanor forestalled him by holding out a bill. Curufin took it, Fëanor’s expression brooking no objections. “Right. Thank you.”

He ordered something at the counter, still too in turmoil to much pay attention to what he was buying, and returned to the table with his drink. He took a sip and winced – in no way had he meant to order chai. He pushed it away, and Fëanor looked at him, a half smile quirking his lips.

“Did they get your order wrong?”

“What? Oh, no, I just…I got confused.”

“That’s not like you.”

“Yes, well,” said Curufin briskly, pulling himself together. “These coffee shops and their unnecessarily convoluted menus. Totally self-indulgent to have so many items listed; how many brewed beverages does one actually need?”

“Exactly what I’ve always said. Kanafinwë has given me explanations for the gastronomic contortions attempted by these places, but I remain unconvinced.”

A silence fell then.

“What projects are you working on this summer?” asked Fëanor after an interlude. “Are you still working on that, what was it, Constraint Limited Backup – ”

Curufin leaned forward unconsciously. “CLBRMBR. Yes.”

“That’s right. I remember being impressed with your aspirations for it as you laid them out to me.”

“Well, and that was only in the beta stage of the project. I’m well beyond that now, and I’ve redefined some parameters and goals, especially accounting for some of the issues I ran into early on. I actually adapted a concept from your PALANTR designs that’s helped me with troubleshooting…”

For a wonderful thirty minutes, things were as they had always been. Fëanor leaned forward, elbows on the table, interjecting Curufin’s explanations with curious questions and suggestions, some of which Curufin jotted down on a napkin to work into his SilverFist 2.0 redesign.

“When Aulë cut funding I was concerned some of these projects would be dead in the water, but knowing you’re embarking on work with even some of the foundational concepts is endlessly reassuring.”

“The applicability across media gives it longevity.”

“Not to entirely change the subject, but have you been following Elon Musk’s latest?”

“Yes, were you tempted? I could see you being drawn to the concept of a hyperloop pod design…”

“I’d enter, but god knows my name would precede the credibility of my design.”

“Oh, let it. Just because some litigious bastards – ”

“Careful, Curvo,” said Fëanor, but he was smiling. “You don’t know who might overhear you.”

Curufin tossed his head and tried another sip of his chai. It was actually growing on him. “Fine. But back to the hyperloop…”

Their discussion might have continued unabated, had they not both glanced up, simultaneously, to see Nerdanel and Celegorm out on the sidewalk, arm in arm, their heads together and talking closely. It was as if a stone had dropped into the pleasant rill of their conversation.

“Well,” said Fëanor softly. “It looks like that went well, at least.”

Curufin said nothing, all the enjoyment of interacting with his father – _as usual, as it used to be_ – dissipating. His instincts suddenly felt unsettled and contrary. Part of him longed to urge his father to go out, to talk to Celegorm, to make things right so that everything could be normal between all of them again – and part of him knew this was nonsense. However it turned out, things couldn’t go back to how they had been. The part of him that burned with fierce loyalty to his brother and his brother’s pride, that wanted to protect Celegorm from this confrontation, bit his tongue, and allowed him to say nothing.

(And a very small, shameful part felt a sudden swell of resentment towards Celegorm and his idiotic romantic entanglements. _If it hadn’t been for you – !_

He suppressed it.)

Fëanor looked like he knew something of what was going through his son’s head. He started to speak, but at that moment, Celegorm glanced through the window and saw them both. His face, which had been lively and expressive, immediately closed off. Fëanor saw this, and his own eyes shuttered just as completely.

“Go on,” he said to Curufin. “Go see your brother. You can tell your mother I’m waiting.”

Curufin nodded and stood up, stiff and awkward again. He could see his father’s shoulders twitch once, like he wanted to rise too, to grasp his son’s hand, or pull him into a hug. Terrified of what he might do if Fëanor touched him with gentle affection, Curufin pushed his chair in hastily and turned to rush off. But first his father’s voice came after him, quiet and with a touch of emotion that Curufin couldn’t place.

“It was good seeing you, Curvo.”

Curufin nodded again, jerkily, not trusting himself to speak, and flew out the door, its cheerful jingle ringing in his ears.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Officially on a summer schedule which means…I update when I manage to finish a chapter. Whenever that may be. But summer also means I’m coming up on a year since I started this puppy, which is crazy! Expect a return to this story’s fundamentals...


	56. Headrest for my soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we peek in on the Sindar, two people have a very small but special celebration, and the Great Finwion Email Thread is unleashed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Guys there is some IMPOSSIBLY gooey shmoop in here, I am SO SORRY. But like two people told me they missed a certain couple and HEY I’m not one to disappoint my readers (/proceeds to do this constantly.) Anyway, the shmoop is all for those two people and in no way my own self-indulgence. Nope. _I_ couldn't care less.

**_BELERIAND STUDENT ACCUSED OF ASSAULT_ **

The newspaper was worn from repeated folding and looked far older than it was, given than its publication date was only to that morning. Mablung glanced across the table at his friend as Beleg scanned through the article once more.

“You’ve got to have read that a dozen times, dude,” he said, not unkindly. “You’re not getting anything _new_.”

“I know.” But Beleg didn’t tear his eyes away from the print.

“Why don’t you just ask him what happened?” Mablung traced some absent circles onto the notepad in front of him. “Get it from the horse’s mouth.”

“I can’t.” Beleg was uncharacteristically tense and it made his voice sharp. “He’s not here. If I'd only been around sooner maybe....but I was wrapped up in exams and by the time I got out, the story was all over campus and Túrin was _nowhere_. I looked all over and couldn’t find him, I even went to the Dean but she said he hadn’t been expelled. Yet. He’s just gone.”

“He probably went home,” said Mablung reasonably. “For the summer.”

“No,” said Beleg, tersely. “His family isn’t…around. Going home isn’t an option for him. He didn’t go home over the breaks, either. I was actually…I was actually going to ask him if he wanted to come home with me, this summer. Otherwise he was just going to stay at school and use summer housing.”

“Ah.” Mablung nodded. Beleg offering to take a friend in for the summer sounded perfectly in character. “Look, I’m sure he’ll turn up. In the meantime – ”

“There’s something not right about Saeros’ story,” said Beleg, with the doggedness of someone who couldn’t stop turning the same thing over in his head, and had said approximately the same thing a dozen times already. “It just doesn’t ring true, I don’t trust it.”

“Saeros is a rat.” Mablung leaned back in his chair. “I grew up with the kid, I know his family, and he’s a rat. He’s always been a rat.” He shrugged. “But he might be telling the truth, I dunno. Why would Túrin just vanish instead of defending himself?”

“I don’t know.” Beleg stared into space, and then back down at the paper. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Mablung gave his friend another couple minutes of brooding contemplation before trying to gently change the subject. “Uh, so this job I’m applying to…”

“Right.” Beleg dragged his focus back to Mablung with an effort. “This job.”

“I need three recommendations. Good ones.” Mablung looked hopelessly at the notepad in front of him, on which he’d written two names. “Because otherwise I’m just some kid from the shitty part of town whose only work experience is either in a factory or washing dishes in the dining hall.”

“And with a degree in forestry,” Beleg reminded him.

“But no experience in it.” Mablung flexed his fingers, which could still get cramped and stiff at times from his old injury, especially if he had a death grip on a pencil like he did now. “But all I’ve got for recs are my foreman and my work study supervisor.”

“That’s not bad.” Beleg craned his neck to look at the names. “You’re missing a really obvious one, though.”

“I am?”

Beleg leaned over and scribbled another name below the first two. “Yeah.”

Mablung stared at Beleg’s loopy script. “Oh.”

“I mean, come on, he knew you all four years, knows your background, respects you, can speak to your leadership abilities…”

Mablung didn’t say anything.

“Coach would write you a reference in a heartbeat, you know he would. He always liked you.”

“I’m not so sure of that.” Mablung tightened his jaw. “Somehow I think I might not be one of his favorite people these days.”

“Because of Celegorm?”

“Yeah, what the fuck else?”

Beleg shook his head. “He’s not petty, though. I don’t think he’d just take Celegorm’s side like that, he never played favorites when you two used to fight on the team…”

“That was before Celegorm was his _boyfriend_.” Mablung spat the words.

Beleg winced. “Well. Not actually, according to what they told us.”

Mablung muttered something, but didn’t respond.

“It’s worth a try, isn’t it?” Beleg waited, and when Mablung still didn’t answer, he turned back to the paper.

Mablung remained brooding, lost in thought, trying to decide if he was too angry and disgusted with his former coach to go to him for a favor – and wrestling with the suspicion that his reluctance to approach Oromë was simply childish avoidance.

Beleg had gone back to being engrossed in the newspaper, his eyes scanning the columns of print Mablung knew he must have memorized by now. He had never quite understood what drew Beleg so strongly to the Turambar kid, but he knew fixation and obsession when he saw it. Could even sympathize, a bit.

Beleg lips moved as he read, or recited, lines from the article. “Saeros,” he mumbled, and lifted his arms to allow a green-aproned waitress to clear away their empty cups. “Oh, sorry.” He looked up paused at his shoulder. “Hey, Nellas, I didn’t know you were working today.”

Quiet, brown-eyed Nellas had frozen, her hands full, looking down at the paper in Beleg’s hands. “Did you mention Saeros?” Her voice was so soft Mablung almost couldn’t hear it, and he realized it was one of the only times he’d heard Nellas speak.

“Yes.” Beleg frowned. “Why?”

“I saw something in the paper…”

“This paper? Yes, about Túrin and Saeros, and Túrin being charged with assault.” Beleg’s voice had gone tight again as he jerked the paper in question, making it flap. “It’s probably all over town by now.”

“I…” Nellas shot a nervous glance over her shoulder. “I know something about that,” she said, in barely a whisper.

“About Saeros and Turin?” Beleg spoke so quickly that his words ran together. “About the incident? You know something?”

“I saw – ” But Nellas broke off as someone passed behind her. She looked anxious, and started to move away, and Beleg quickly but gently grasped her wrist.

“You _saw_ something? They said there were no witnesses, this could change everything! Nellas, if you saw something, you should go to the police.”

Nellas looked like she wanted to run, and Mablung shook his head. Nellas was from his old neighborhood too, and if there was anything they’d all grown up understanding, it was that getting involved with the police spelled trouble. Beleg would remember this, if he wasn’t so damn preoccupied with that kid…

Beleg was speaking earnestly. “Please, if you know something, I have to hear it. Túrin's  _vanished_ , he’s my friend, and I’m trying to figure out what happened. If you know anything, please, tell me.”

Nellas’ eyes darted around the coffee shop. “I have a break in five minutes,” she said finally. “I’ll be out back.” She pulled way, and Beleg stared after her.

Mablung waited, as his friend grew increasingly twitchy and distracted. “Oh, go on,” he said at last. “Go wait for her in the alley, and try not to look like you’re selling drugs.” He shook his head as Beleg jumped up, stuffing the newspaper into his bag. “I’ll hold down our table.”

He leaned his head in his hand as Beleg hurried off, staring down at the three names written on the paper before him. He tapped his pencil to his lips, and thought.

 

 

* * *

 

  

Celegorm leapt into the air for the ball, catching it against his chest. He was about to let out a triumphant whoop as he descended, but at that moment, a giant grey blur collided with him midair, knocking him to the ground flat on his back, with a teeth-rattling thud. He lay there a moment, breath completely knocked out of him, staring at the sky. The grey blur yelped and licked his ear before running off.

“At least you kept ahold of the ball,” said a deep voice, and a long shadow fell over him. Oromë crouched next to him, examining him curiously. “But we know you have good instincts.”

Celegorm didn’t answer. He didn’t have enough air in his lungs.

Oromë sat down in the grass next to him. “You can, however, probably let go of the ball now.”

Celegorm realized he still had the football clutched to his chest, and he forced his hands to loosen enough so that it rolled away. His arms flopped out to the side, and Oromë bent over him to check him for injuries. He touched Celegorm’s ribs lightly, and Celegorm let out a breathless huff.

Oromë looked up at him. “Does that hurt?”

“Tickles,” rasped Celegorm.

Oromë grinned, finished running his hands lightly over Celegorm’s body, and dropped down next to him in the grass, head propped on his hand as he watched Celegorm recover.

“Dog’s a menace,” Celegorm managed at last, and Oromë nodded.

“He’s definitely picked up a thing or two from his master.”

“You blaming me for this?”

“Yep.”

Celegorm struggled upright and shoved Oromë over. “Asshole. I’m injured and you go and say it’s all my fault for mis-training my dog. Victim-blamer.”

“Tyelko, I’ve seen a femur protruding through your skin not slow you down. Don’t tell me you’ve been brung low by a year-old pup.”

“I’ll show you who’s been brung low by a pup,” muttered Celegorm, settling himself astride Oromë’s hips and pinning his wrists to the ground. “Unfeeling old man.”

“Unfeeling? Old? Watch it, or – ” Oromë was cut off as Celegorm kissed him soundly, his fingers tightening on Oromë’s wrists. “Mmph.”

They stayed like that on the grass for a while, Celegorm continuing to let out little complaining grumbles about demon dogs and heartless boyfriends, until Oromë laughed and took Celegorm’s lower lip between his teeth. Celegorm’s grumbles turned into a moan as Oromë urged his lips apart and ran his tongue against Celegorm’s, lightly demanding in the way that Celegorm liked. He released Oromë’s wrists, bringing his hands to his broad shoulders instead, and Oromë half sat up, wrapping his arms around Celegorm’s waist and pulling him against his chest, one palm between Celegorm’s shoulder blades to steady him. It was an unconscious habit he had, a way of holding Celegorm close to him and keeping him grounded, and Celegorm thought that the weight of that familiar hand on his back had to be the closest thing to pure comfort he knew. He looped his arms around Oromë’s neck happily and settled into his lap, leaning back into that touch, as his fingers absently picked blades of grass from Oromë’s hair. He could stay like this for hours, he thought, Oromë’s lips at his jaw, and throat, and the corner of his mouth, and nipping at his earlobe. There was something joyful in the way Oromë kissed him today, and Celegorm’s patience would almost allow him to sit there and make out like teenagers for the rest of the afternoon.

Almost.

Celegorm could only go so long straddling Oromë’s lap and feeling his hands slide under the bottom of his shirt, before he was itching for more. He ducked his head to capture Oromë’s lips from where they were exploring the side of his neck, and decided to see what he might be able to get away with.

But when Celegorm’s hands wandered down Oromë’s sides to the waistband of his jeans, and he ground down a little more intentionally against Oromë’s groin, Oromë broke their kiss, shaking his head. “I have neighbors, you know.”

Celegorm whined. “You have a fence for exactly this reason!”

“I have a fence for dog reasons.”

“Then let’s do it doggy style and call it close enough.” Celegorm nuzzled at Oromë’s throat, breathing him in. Even Oromë’s _scent_ made him hard. “Take off your clothes.”

“Not again. I can’t imagine my neighbors didn’t notice the hammock incident last week, and I’m trying to spare them too much…exposure…” Oromë broke off as Celegorm fastened his mouth to the skin of his throat, his voice roughening. “Dangerous territory there, boy.”

“I know, why do you think I’m doing it?” Celegorm sucked at Oromë’s neck, grinning triumphantly as he felt Oromë shift his hips involuntarily so that they rubbed together through the increasingly constricting fabric of their jeans.

Oromë’s hand stroked up Celegorm’s back to knot in his hair, pulling his head back slightly. “I promise if I retaliate in kind you’ll come out worse than I will. I know how you bruise…”

“Mmm, do it.” Celegorm pulled back and tilted his head, exposing the arc of his throat. “C’mon and mark me up, coach.”

Oromë looked up at him and ran a finger down Celegorm’s neck, just below his ear, effortlessly unhurried. “I’d call you shameless, and a horrible temptation, and all that, but I worry I’m growing redundant.” He smiled, and Celegorm felt his throat close up at how it lit his handsome face. There were still a few blades of grass in his dark hair, and Celegorm had a sudden flash how he must have looked as a young man, wild and carefree and beautiful. The sun was hot, and Oromë’s skin shone with a faint sheen of sweat as Celegorm ran his fingers slowly up his powerful arms. He pulled lightly at the neckline of Oromë’s t-shirt, exposing his collarbone, and he bent forward to deliberately lick the sweat from it. Oromë groaned, and Celegorm found himself lifted as Oromë got to his feet. Instinctively, Celegorm wrapped his legs around Oromë’s waist as Oromë tightened his arms under Celegorm’s hips.

“You gonna pin me to the wall, Coach?” Celegorm’s breath sped up as he felt sweat roll down his spine. So much for taking it slow.

“I’m going to take you wherever we are when I can’t wait any longer,” murmured Oromë, and gave a low whistle.

Celegorm shivered anticipatorily, but all that happened was that Nahar heaved himself up from where he’d been napping in the shade, and trotted past Oromë. Still carrying Celegorm, Oromë followed the dog up the steps to the house. Nahar rose up on his hind legs, pressed a paw to the door handle, and gently pushed it open. Oromë followed him through the door while Celegorm laughed in admiration.

“I hope you taught him that for just this kinda thing.”

“You hope I’m frequently carrying lovers in from the backyard? No, it’s so I know he can get into the house if it storms when I’ve left him out for the day.”

Celegorm buried his face in Oromë’s shoulder, still hanging on tightly. “I still can’t believe you won’t fuck me outside. You blew me on a mountaintop, but you won’t even have sex on your own property…”

“It has a direct correlation with the number of eyes around.” Oromë kicked open the bedroom door. “The mountain had zero, if you didn’t count that overly interested rock squirrel. The mountain didn’t have a home owners association, either.” He laid Celegorm down on the bed, very gently. Celegorm reached for the hem of his shirt, eager to get Oromë bare, to feel that broad chest pressing down against him.

Oromë let Celegorm pull the shirt over his head, and then returned the favor. As he settled down between Celegorm’s legs, their bare skin sticking together slightly in the heat, he laid a very soft kiss just above Celegorm’s heart. “Do you realize what day it is?”

“What? Uh, it’s a Tuesday, isn’t it?”

Oromë took a moment to look amused. “No, it’s not, actually. But that’s not what I meant.” He kissed Celegorm’s breast again. “Today marks two years, exactly, since we first…” He trailed off, and Celegorm caught his chin, pulling him up so they were face to face.

“Really?”

“Really.” Oromë’s voice was quiet, but caught with something intensely tender, and Celegorm passed his fingers just over Oromë’s eyes, brushing his eyelashes. Those amber eyes were unusually bright, and Celegorm felt sudden emotion close his own throat.

“Hey, whaddya know.” Celegorm tried to keep his tone light, but his voice was raspy. “Happy…anniversary, babe.”

“Here’s to at least two more years,” Oromë whispered. “And ideally, less broken up than the last two have been.” He kissed Celegorm slowly and deeply, and when they broke apart, Celegorm tasted salt.

He didn’t say much else, as Oromë undressed him the rest of the way, but his fingers pressed against the wolf on Oromë’s back, and Oromë laid a kiss against the echo of that wolf on Celegorm’s shoulder. The lump in Celegorm’s throat was too great for him to get the words out around it, but Oromë seemed to understand, for he whispered, “I know. I love you, I love you.”

The fan whirred. Two dogs slept in the hallway, quite immune to the murmurs and muffled sounds of love from the bedroom. Outside, the sun shone brightly on the grass in the backyard, where a football lay, quite forgotten.

 

 

* * *

 

  

 **Aredhel:** Friends and fambly – You may have heard that the invasion of Casa Fëanorion by an actual female creature has been effectively perpetrated. Yes, the rumors are true, I have moved in with Tyelko and Curvo, and they are so much better for my presence. Curvo has even kindly refrained from killing me in my sleep, which I’m told means he likes me.

In celebration of this historic event, there will be a PARTY at 1495 Mithrim Lake Road, two weekends from now. (Apparently this is how much advance notice certain of my new roommates need.) Dress code: douchebag chic. Basically just raid Tyelko’s closet (that’s what I’m going to do) and you’ll be set. Gifts: Only accepted in liquid form. Time: If you come before sunset, there will be grilling in the backyard. If you come after sunset, all the hotdogs will be gone, but there will be a beerpong table and suitably douchebaggy music, provided by DJ Tyelbromo. Tofudogs available on request, even though Tyelko makes gagging noises every time I mention them.

RSVP on this thread. Love you nerds.

 

 **Curufin:** 1.) It doesn’t mean I like you. It simply means that I have no desire to enter your territory and risk bleeding out from the throat when your demon pet attacks me. 2.) Party will be shut the fuck down if it goes past 2am or annoys me unduly. Be warned.

 

 **Celegorm:** oh, nugget. i’m in too good a mood to even roll my eyes at you and ur cute little threats

 **Celegorm:** follow up: is it ‘douchebag chic’ or ‘urban swag’????? u decide. also brb patenting the name dj tyelbromo

 

 **Curufin:** You don’t patent stage names, you raving idiot.

 

 **Maedhros:** I’m so glad this is already cluttering my inbox.

 

 **Celegorm:** shh mae or ireth will tell everyone what she found in your closet when she moved in

 

 **Fingon:** uh oh

 

 **Maedhros:** …

 **Maedhros:** sending you a private message

 

 **Aredhel:** yeah. uh oh INDEED.  Anyway, none of you assholes have actually rsvp’ed yet?? This is not the place for gossip and chitchat??

 

 **Galadriel:** I’ll be there. So will Teleporno. Three tofudogs please.

 

 **Argon:** i don’t plan anything 2 wks in advance. check back w me the friday before

 **Argon:** will there b chicks?

 

 **Aredhel:** Arko you are the ass-worst.

 

 **Aegnor:** I’ll come over after my ultimate game that day. Can I bring some people?

 

 **Argon:** bring chicks

 

 **Aegnor:** There will be individuals of a female persuasion, yes. Among others.

 **Aegnor:** I will also be bringing my stump

 **Aegnor:** Have you got a hammer at the house? If not I’ll bring mine.

 

 **Aredhel:** o.O

 

 **Finrod:** I think this would be a good time to mention I’m afraid I can’t make it.

 

 **Celegorm:** weh weh. oh well. another time. what a shame.

 

 **Aredhel:** Ignore him. We’ll miss you, Ingo, but I’m sure I’ll see you around. Actually I was going to hit up you or Artanis or both to proof my resume at some point?

 

 **Finrod:** of course!

 

 **Galadriel:** Ditto.

 

 **Elenwë:** I know I can’t actually rsvp since this is approx. 1000 miles away from me right now, but I would just like to say that I’m glad I got copied on this because it is making me love you all very much.

 

 **Aredhel:** SKYPE ME i miss u 

 

 **Elenwë:** Querida we just got off skype 15 mins ago

 

 **Aredhel:** ;_; fine i can wait for tomorrow

 

 **Glorfindel:** Hey! Thanks for copying me. I’ll totally be there, and am I reading correctly that the Gentlemen’s Sport of Stump will be being played?

 

 **Aegnor:** I don’t know you but I like you already

 

 **Glorfindel:** Thanks! I can bring a back-up hammer.

 

 **Celeborn:** excuse me, but can someone define ‘douchebag chic’?

 

 **Aredhel:** Tyelko

 

 **Fingon:** Tyelko

 

 **Aegnor:** Turkafinweee. Look it up and his picture is in the dictionary next to ‘douchebag’

 

 **Celegorm:** i’ll douche yer mOM

 

 **Aegnor:** case in point

 

 **Galadriel:** Sweetie seriously I showed you pictures

 

 **Celeborn:** I just don’t think I have the right clothes for it.

 

 **Galadriel:** You don’t. It is one of the many reasons I love you.

 

 **Caranthir:** Now that we’ve thoroughly established that Tyelko is a dbag… (yeah seriously Celeborn just wear anything you’ve ever seen him wear to a tailgate)

 **Caranthir:** I need to come grab some stuff from the house anyway

 **Caranthir:** so yeah, I’ll be there

 

 **Celegorm:** :DDD YAY

 **Celegorm:** we shall have an almost entirely complete feanorion set. hot damn

 **Celegorm:** all thanks to me. the great unifier. YEA SHALL IT BE KNOWN AS THE REUNION OF CELEGORM

 

 **Maedhros:** Not a fan of that epithet. Lacks a certain panache.

 

 **Celegorm:** it’s not always all about you Nelyo

 

 **Aredhel:** yes for example sometimes it’s about me

 

 **Haleth:** Moryo tagged me in on this thread. Is it okay if I crash?

 

 **Aredhel:** OH MY GOD YES PLEASE SAVE ME FROM THIS SAUSAGE FEST

 **Aredhel:** also totally meant to copy you, sorry!

 **Aredhel:** can’t believe I forgot you but included arko, what a mistake

 

 **Galadriel:** I’m bringing some people to counteract the sausage fest issue too, no worries

 

 **Argon:** WOO MORE CHICKS

 

 **Aredhel:** we’ll just keep him in the back yard out of harm’s way

 **Aredhel:** tie him to a tree with some kibble or something

 

 **Celegorm:** kinky.

 

 **Maedhros:** Can we PLEASE stop using this thread for random conversation? My notifications keep going off while I’m trying to work.

 

 **Fingon:** I personally don’t mind. This is wayyy more entertaining than the emails about budgets and union strikes

 

 **Turgon:** Bëor says he’s sorry about that.

 

 **Fingon:** oooh Bëor should come to the party! I promise not to talk shop with him, or do any of the traditional things The Man usually does to union reps

 **Fingon:** shot inna head, dropped in the harbor w feet in cement, etc

 

 **Turgon:** …yeah

 **Turgon:** I’ll be sure to include that in the invitation

 **Turgon:** you psycho

 

 **Fingon:** IT’S BEEN A LONG WEEK OK

 **Fingon:** Who am I kidding, it’s been a long two years

 

 **Turgon:** hey Ireth will your cat be attending?

 

 **Aredhel:** yes turno he will be manning the dj booth and playing several rounds of flipcup

 **Aredhel:** ??? he’s a cat not a party guest

 **Aredhel:** get your head out of your ass

 

 **Turgon:** I MEAN do I have to worry about him scalping and/or otherwise assaulting me

 **Turgon:** and for the record, “cat” is up for debate

 

 **Aredhel:** no, he will be in my room

 **Aredhel:** he’s in a burrowing phase

 **Aredhel:** so I’ve given him free range of my laundry hamper

 

 **Curufin:** Turukáno I am fully sympathetic to your concerns. Trust me that if I could have done something besides ban the creature from my own room (a tactic that has succeeded only marginally), I would have.

 

 **Celegorm:** /i/ suggested mittens.

 

 **Aredhel:** WILL EVERYONE LEAVE MY DAMN CAT ALONE

 

 **Maglor:** hey, sorry to chime in late but it looks like I’m going to be home, so…two tofudogs, please.

 

 **Aredhel:** :D Hey, look who it is!

 

 **Maedhros:** You’re coming home???? Since when??????? What day will you be back? Does this mean you’re done recording??? I haven’t heard from you in ages WHAT’S THE DEAL

 

 **Aredhel:** who’s using the thread for personal conversation now?

 

 **Maedhros:** Wait hold on Káno I’m calling you

 **Maedhros:** oh my god I literally can’t believe this

 

 **Maglor:** Yes hi I am standing here looking at my phone but it is not ringing hurry up

 

 **Celegorm:** gawd get a room you two

 

 **Aredhel:** oki closing this thread

 **Aredhel:** see you all in two weeks!

 **Aredhel:** :) love u

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. So about the _Children of Hurin_ … Since September of 2014 I’ve had ideas for how the events of the Narn fit into the dwmp verse. For a while, I was going to get into them, mostly so I could play more with Beleg and Turin et al. I realized, though, that it would be a massive distraction from the main cast and the other storylines there, and so I dropped it. I still think trying to actually work in the Narn would be overly distracting, and honestly, I think it deserves its own story. That is what it may someday get: a modern au of its own, set in the dwmp universe, unspooling in parallel. But if (and that’s a big IF) this happens, it needs to be its own thing. THAT SAID: I need more of certain Sindar in this story, and as a result, as we get glimpses of Mablung and Beleg and Nellas, we will also get glimpses of CoH events taking place. I will not be going into great detail, but they will be alluded to. Just a head’s up that this will be happening, and a disclaimer that you’re not going to get the full, completely fleshed out story just now!


	57. Throw your fist through the ceiling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the sons of Fëanor throw house parties, everyone drinks terrible beer, and…you know the deal.
> 
> (Can you believe it’s almost been a year since the first one of these?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. This is an empty calorie of a chapter in many ways. In other, very real ways, it is a four course meal. If you count the courses as 1. drinking games, 2. inappropriate kissing, 3. awkwardness, and 4. Too Much Noise.

Celegorm and Aredhel each had a PBR in hand and were playing a lazy game of Polish Horseshoes in the front yard. The careless arcs of their frisbee were slowly driving Huan more and more wild with excitement and frustration as he darted between them. They looked up as a car pulled up to the curb, and Huan took advantage of their inattention to seize the frisbee right before it knocked Celegorm’s bottle from his ski pole.

“Damnit, dog, that would have been a point for me!”

“Ah, I woulda caught it anyway.” Celegorm took a swig of PBR. “Look, it’s your brother. And my brother. Hey, bitches.”

Fingon parked the car and got out, and Aredhel whistled her appreciation. He was wearing jean shorts cut off at the knee and his _Flight of the Noldor: Sausagefest_ tank top, a trucker hat pulled low over his eyes.

“Yo, we match!” Aredhel danced down the front walk as Huan settled down happily to gnaw the frisbee. She was wearing one of Celegorm’s mesh scrimmage pennies, and a pair of shorts that said _RUCK ME_ across the ass. She tweaked the brim of her own trucker hat, and Fingon high-fived her.

“That is an impressive amount of douche, little sister.”

“I got it from the rugby side of Tyelko’s closet.” Aredhel wiggled her butt. “I think the team sold these as a novelty fundraiser, but Tyelko wears them totally without irony. He’s an inspiration to me.”

Maedhros had unfolded himself from the passenger side of the car, and Aredhel cocked her head at him. He was wearing tight fitting skinny jeans and an equally tight shirt that read _I listen to good music. You listen to crap._

“I decided to go as a different sort of douchebag,” he said, in answer to her raised eyebrows.

At that moment, Curufin came out the front door, his jacket slung over his shoulder and his computer case under his arm. He glanced at Maedhros. “Nice Makalaurë costume.”

Maedhros grinned. “Thanks.” He swiveled to watch Curufin pass. “Are you heading out for the evening?”

“Yes.”

“Where are you going to be?”

“Don’t fret your head, mother. I’ll just be down at the vacant lot shooting up heroin and soliciting prostitutes.”

“Bring cash,” said Celegorm, who had raided Aredhel's closet in retribution and was resplendent in one of her crop-tops and a pair of bright yellow shutter shades. “Eyyy, looking good, Findekáno.”

“Save it,” said Fingon, holding out a hand, which Celegorm walked into accidentally on purpose. “Wait, do some prostitutes take credit cards?”

“It’s the 21st century, I’m sure some of them do.”

“Probably not the ones in the vacant lot doing heroin with Curvo.”

“I believe it’s generally more of an exchange of services system,” said Curufin, heading for the mailbox.

“You give them lessons in HTML5, they give you a blowjob?”

“Yes, exactly, you know me well.”

“Say hi to Finrod for me,” said Celegorm, with a rather dangerous grin. “I hope he appreciates the HTML5 lessons.”

Curufin ignored him and set off down the street.

“Are you going to be coming back tonight?” Maedhros called after him, still looking unhappy.

“Who can say? Enjoy your night of idiocy and try not to burn the house down. If you do, I will have no compunction in telling Father it was entirely your fault.” Curufin rounded the corner and disappeared.

“That’s interesting,” said Aredhel. “Would that indicate he and your father are speaking, then?”

“Hng,” said Celegorm, noncommittally.

“How often does he go to Finrod's?” asked Maedhros in a low voice, and Celegorm rolled his eyes.

“Back off, mom – ”

“Will both of you stop calling me that?”

“ – I’m not his babysitter, or his guard dog, so I’ve been told. Leave him alone.”

“I am leaving him alone, it’s you I’m – ”

“AHEM,” said Fingon loudly. “We are getting side-tracked from some very important things that I fear you have forgotten, Mae.”

“Eh?”

“Our housewarming gift. Our beautiful, expensive, deeply loving housewarming gift, for a house that’s already been warmed quite enough, but that now has my sister in it and is therefore deserving of a few more coals.”

Celegorm dropped the glasses down his nose so he could look at Fingon with renewed interest. “A housewarming gift, you say?”

“Yep. A truly adult one.” Fingon winked. “Open the trunk, Maitimo.”

Maedhros, who looked like he wasn’t sure whether to be amused or dubious, popped the trunk.

“Oh my god.” Aredhel clasped her hands to her heart. “ _Finno_. You got us a keg!”

“I did,” said Fingon cheerfully. “And not just any keg – this is _real_ beer, an Iron Foundry microbrew from Blue Hills, none of that corn-piss crap you usually serve at this place.”

Aredhel jumped up and down. “I’m going to go get the tap!” She darted into the house.

Celegorm still hadn’t said anything.

Fingon folded his arms. “Well, Tyelko?”

Slowly, Celegorm approached him. “Finno,” he said softly. “Findekáno.”

Fingon took an inadvertent step backward. “Um.”

Celegorm raised his hands and cupped Fingon’s face gently, tenderly. “ _Findekáno_. You know you have always been my favorite cousin, right? Hell, my favorite family member, period.”

“Uhh.”

“My dearest cousin. Most favorite. And this keg? _This keg is why._ ” Celegorm turned his eyes upward eloquently, then kissed Fingon deeply on the lips.

Fingon held very, very still. Then he turned, and walked towards the house. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to set your house on fire.”

 

Celegorm was still laughing when a hand descended on the back of his neck, grabbed him by the scruff, and shook him, none too gently. He yelped.

“Tyelkormo,” whispered Maedhros, low and deadly. “I am going to kill you.”

“Maitimo!” Celegorm grinned ingratiatingly, dangling from Maedhros’ hand. “Aw, come on. I didn’t even use tongue.”

“YOU DID TOO,” yelled Fingon from the house. “Ireth, where’s the lighter fluid?”

“ _Kill you_ ,” said Maedhros, turning the words over in his mouth almost lovingly. “Until you are quite dead.”

“Help,” said Celegorm, twisting in Maedhros’ grasp.

 

In the backyard, Aredhel had placated Fingon with a beer and a bratwurst.

“How’s working for dad going?”

“Eh, can’t complain. How’s working for mom?”

“Eh, can’t complain.”

From the front yard came a brief scream and the sound of running feet. “Fuckin’ _hell_ , Nelyo! Káno? MORYO. CURVO HELP.”

Celegorm appeared around the side of the house, running fast. Close behind him was Maedhros, who didn’t even look like he was working hard.

“Curvo’s not here,” he said, matter-of-factly, and spun Celegorm around by the shoulder.

“So,” said Aredhel brightly, turning back to Fingon. “I got the tap.”

“Oh, excellent,” he said, as Maedhros very carefully dropped Celegorm into the hedge. “We should get the keg going.”

 

* * *

 

 

Galadriel, Amarië, and Andreth turned the corner onto Mithrim Lake Road, talking fast.

“I didn’t really get the dress code, so I just pulled something neon out of my closet?”

“You’re as bad as Teleporno, I swear. Have you not been in college for the past several years? You know what a douchebag looks like, surely. And Andreth, I don’t quite get the look you’re going for.”

Andreth, who was in a wife-beater, army pants, and aviators, chewed on the cigar between her teeth. “What’s not to get?”

“You look like you should be in Top Gun or something.”

“Right. And who always says Top Gun is their favorite movie?”

“Douchebags.” Galadriel conceded. “Fine.”

“I liked Top Gun okay,” said Amarië, trying to tug the hem of her shirt down. “Especially Goose.”

Andreth batted her hands away from her top. “Girl, it’s a crop top, stop trying to make it cover everything.”

“It’s _drafty_.”

“You think _that’s_ drafty.” Galadriel winced and tried surreptitiously to adjust her shorts. “I don’t know how Daisy Duke wore these day in and day out, mine keep trying to head north.”

Andreth gave a snort of laughter, but looked speculatively at Galadriel’s backside. “They may be impractical, but your ass has never looked better. In fact, this may be the first time I’ve noticed you have an ass.”

“I very much have an ass,” said Galadriel, dignity, and Amarië and Andreth both laughed, until Galadriel looked offended. “I beg your pardon.”

“You have very nice legs,” said Amarië, fairly. “But I can’t in good faith say you have much of a – ”

“Booty,” finished Andreth promptly. “Not that you’re one to talk, Amarië. I think I have the only true junk in the trunk of the lot of you.” She swung her hips and wrapped her arms around each of their waists. “Man, who is looking forward to getting faced tonight?”

“I shall not object to imbibing mightily,” said Galadriel serenely, and flicked one of her pigtails over her shoulder.

“I’m still not sure this is such a good idea,” Amarië mumbled. “I feel weird hanging out with the Fëanorions, it’s not like I’m good friends with them, and…” She trailed off.

“Findaráto won’t be there,” said Galadriel, cutting to the heart of things, as usual. “I promise. And don’t think of it as going to a Fëanorion party – You’re going to see Irissë!”

“Yes,” said Amarië with visible reluctance. “I suppose. But other people will be there…”

“We’ll keep you away from Caranthir,” said Galadriel, as Andreth nodded and growled happily, "Defensive perimeter.” 

“And I’m _sure_ Curvo won’t be around.”

“Right,” said Amarië, still uncomfortable.

“I can’t make the same promise to you,” said Galadriel to Andreth, who was practicing blowing smoke rings from her unlit cigar. “Aiko will almost definitely be there. Is that going to be okay?”

“Yeah, whatever, I can be an adult if he can be an adult.”

“What if he can’t be adult?”

“Then he’ll pull an Aiko and vanish,” said Andreth. “He’s good at that.”

“We’re here. 1495, right?”

The three girls stopped outside the house. The last of the light was fading, and they could smell the smoke of a grill.

“I hope they have some tofudogs left.”

There was shouting coming from the backyard, and they cocked their heads, listening.

“It’s unnatural, I don’t hold with it, it goes against my beliefs! I’m a traditionalist! Beef or pork, fine, but the dreaded soybean is an abomination and an affront to my values!”

Two figures raced around the corner of the house, one swinging a sausage threateningly.

“Take it!” Aredhel yelled. “TAKE MY TOFUPUP.”

Celegorm vaulted over a wheelbarrow and somersaulted onto the lawn. “Nooooo.”

Aredhel whirled the sausage and let it fly. It just missed Celegorm, who jeered and vanished into the house with a wild laugh, slamming the door behind him. Aredhel gave a banshee howl and leapt onto the sill of an open window.

Amarië turned to the others, eyes huge. “Can we just sit on the sidewalk for a little while? And prepare for this?”

“Sure.” Andreth pulled a flask from her back pocket. “I brought preparation juice.”

“Preparation juice is something very different, I would think,” said Galadriel, dropping down on the grass, and wincing again as her shorts went north. “Something you might use to lubricate your – ”

“If there’s something I’ve learned about Arafinwions,” said Andreth, tipping the flask down her throat and taking a healthy swallow, “it’s that you have the _weirdest_ ability to be genteelly crude at unexpected times.”

“That is SO true,” said Amarië, remembering numerous incidents attesting to this, and to her own surprise, laughed.

-

In the time it took the three girls to ‘prepare’ to go in, a dozen or more people passed them on the sidewalk, turning up the walk to the house. The noise from inside started to hit a certain gleeful pitch, and shortly thereafter, the blare of bass began to thunder throughout.

“Are we ready?” asked Galadriel, unfolding her long legs with only the slightest wobble.

Amarië, who alone of them had declined the flask, hauled Andreth to her feet. “I think we might be.”

“Arrr,” said Andreth. “Let’s bitch this bitch.”

They stepped into the house, and despite her renewed good humor and secure between her two friends, Amarië once again tugged self-consciously at her hem.

“Oh my GOD, Amarië!”

She froze at the loud voice as Celegorm thundered down the stairs.

But all he said was, “I can’t believe we wore the same shirt!” and then dashed past in a flash of bare midriff, calling, “Someone stop that fucking dog, he took my beer!”

“I mean I’m proud of him,” they heard him say as he vanished, “it means he’s learning good habits from me. But dude, seriously, steal Káno’s.”

 

* * *

 

 

Maedhros had urged most of the active drinking games outside, relegating a small circle of relative quiet in the living room, while from the basement, the raucous thud of music signaled the forming of a dance floor.

He dropped down on the couch next to Maglor, who had emerged from his room pale and tired but smiling once he had heard Maedhros was there, fresh off the bus from New York. They were wearing matching shirts. They didn’t even look up as Caranthir and Haleth disappeared into Caranthir’s room with a bong and a Monopoly box. Maedhros propped his head on his hand and eyed his brother. “So what’s the deal with New York? Are you done now? Like, completely?”

“Yes,” said Maglor, pulling an absent hand through his hair. It was quite long now, and his usual red bandana was not in evidence. “The album is fully recorded, which is something. Granted, those last two weeks Daeron and I barely spoke to each other outside the studio, but hopefully the music will speak more than enough.”

“Now when you say ‘barely’ spoke,” said Fingon hanging over the back of the couch and draping an arm around Maedhros’ neck. “Does that not include speaking with other parts of your body? Or, like, were your mouths full and therefore not – ouch!” Maedhros had pinched him.

“Finno, you’re drunk, hush.”

Maglor flushed. “I knew I’d regret telling you that.”

“Angry blowjobs are compelling shit.” Fingon looked vaguely repentant. “I tried to forget you told me it, but I couldn’t. It _lingered._ I take it this means you didn’t work out your artistic differences, then. And, uh, monetary differences.”

“That wasn’t the half of it,” said Maglor, and stared down into his wine glass.

Maedhros frowned and sat up straighter. “Wait, it wasn’t? When we talked, you said the issues with contracts and whatnot had gotten really bad, and you were fighting over songwriting credits. Was there more?”

Maglor drained his wineglass and poured himself another from the bottle on the end table. “Yes.” He took another long drink. “There was the Ríanellë of it all.”

 

\---

 

_It had been the week before Maglor left, and early evening. They were in the apartment, more or less cordially ignoring each other, which had become the norm. But Maglor knew he had to break the silence._

_“Hey, so I thought I should give you a head’s up about this.” He took a breath, and sat down at the table next to Daeron, who was eating a bowl of cereal for dinner and reading the_ New Yorker _with one eye and his texts with the other. “I know we’ll be wrapping up soon and I’m headed back north to Beleriand.”_

_“Yeah.” Daeron didn’t look up._

_“Right. And when I get there, I’m…I’m thinking about asking out Ríanellë. For real.”_

_“Good luck,” said Daeron, still scrolling through his phone as the New Yorker drooped against his juice glass. “You’ll need it.”_

_“I know, the ‘I don’t date musicians’ thing.” Maglor allowed himself a small smile. “But I kind of think we might be past that, you know? After – ”_

_“Doesn’t date musicians? She doesn’t date_ anyone _, dude.”_

_“Not recently, no, but I actually think that might be in my favor. I know she likes me as a friend already, and obviously we have a good physical chemistry, and – ”_

_“Yeah, I know, I thought the same thing.” Daeron chased a cheerio around his bowl. “But still, no dice when I asked her.”_

_“When you – Wait, when you did_ what _?”_

_“When I asked her out.”_

_Maglor tried to process this. “Hang on._ You _asked her out. You asked_ Ríanellë _out._ When _?”_

_“Before she left.” Daeron was utterly blasé. “Thought I’d try my luck, you know.”_

_“Are you kidding me? You didn’t think I might want to know that? You knew I liked her, you knew I had feelings for her!”_

_“Uh, no. I knew you had a crush back in the fall or whatever, and that you’d fucked her. While I was there, in case you forgot that part. You didn’t have dibs or anything, and I thought you were over her.”_

_“Well, I’m not.” Maglor felt the all too familiar sensation of fury rising up in him._

_“Good to know. But hey, it doesn’t matter, right? She turned me down. And she’s gonna turn you down too, because she doesn’t do romance.”_

_“What?”_

_“That’s what she told me, when I asked her. She doesn’t do romantic relationships. Not her bag, never has been. Friendship, fine, sex, fine, but she’s not, like, interested in being someone’s girlfriend.”_

_Maglor grabbed Daeron’s phone away from him so that Daeron had to look him in the eye. “You’re bullshitting me. Or she’s bullshitting you. Are you saying this because of that time she complained about all of our songs being about romantic love? Honestly, I agree with her. Even though love is the universal human experience, it doesn’t mean we have to be unoriginal in our song content – ”_

_“Actually, I think she was saying romantic love ISN’T the universal human experience. Because she doesn’t experience it.”_

_Maglor stared at him. “She doesn’t experience it for_ you _.”_

_Daeron rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t a brush off, dude.”_

_“Right, because no girl could ever brush you off. Why are you so reluctant to admit you got rejected?”_

_“Look, you asshole, call her and ask if you don’t believe me.” Daeron was losing his patience._

_“Maybe I will!”_

_“Then DO.”_

 

_\---_

 

“And did you?” Maedhros was watching Maglor with a mixture of deep curiosity and sympathy.

“No.” Maglor finished his wine again. “I just came home instead.”

“To ask her in person?”

“No.” Maglor sighed. “I just really needed to be home.”

Maedhros squeezed his knee, and Fingon shifted over to wrap an arm around his head and give him an affectionate hug. “Well, we ain’t gonna complain about having you back.”

“Are you really not going to talk to Ríanellë?” asked Maedhros softly, and Maglor shrugged.

“I think I’m too much a coward. I almost had my nerve up before I talked to Dai, but now I’m second-guessing myself.”

“Well, look, at least if she says no, it’s not because she doesn’t like you, it’s just ‘cos she doesn’t want a relationship, nothing personal,” began Fingon, but Maglor shook his head.

“Can we talk about something else? Please?”

“Sure,” said Maedhros easily, even though Fingon looked like he was about to ask another question. “Let’s talk about how Tyelko frenched my boyfriend and I’m going to kill him.”

“Again? Oh, Tyelko.” Maglor sighed.

“Again? Wait, hang on, when was the first time?”

Maedhros was starting to look thunderous again when someone flicked him in the ear with a playing card. He ducked and bit back a swear. “What the – ”

“Hey, Asshole.”

“Excuse me?” Maedhros started off the couch, but Celegorm dodged behind tall and lanky Argon, whose shirt displayed a bulked out Abraham Lincoln and read _ABOLISH SLEEVERY._

“Hey, neutral zone! And it wasn’t an epithet, yo, it was an announcement.” Celegorm, who was a head shorter than Argon, but much broader, peeked out around his shoulder. “We’re gonna play a game of Asshole. You in?”

“I’m still not speaking to you,” Maedhros started to say, but Fingon cut him off.

“Yeah, sure. Who’s dealing?”

-

Some time later Celegorm settled his shuttershades over his eyes and leaned back on his elbows. “All right, let’s take stock. Where we at?”

“Artanis is president,” muttered Caranthir, who even while profoundly high had been the undisputed favorite at the game until Galadriel joined, and pushed the pile of cards over for her to shuffle. “Findekáno’s vice president.”

“Story of my life,” said Fingon, and heaved a melodramatic sigh.

“And I’m the asshole,” said Maedhros ruefully. “Again.”

“Hah,” said Celegorm, rolling onto his belly and taking the cards Galadriel dealt him. “Better you than me.”

“Tyelko’s perpetual asshole,” said Caranthir, “regardless of whether we’re playing a game or not.”

“This is mad boring,” said Argon, leaning on Fingon’s shoulder. “This game doesn’t have enough drinking.”

“I have a solution for you!” Aredhel appeared over Argon’s shoulder, and he looked up at her. “Tyelko, we’re finally up for beer pong. Grab one of your weak-ass brothers, I’ve got mine.”

“Hell yes,” said Celegorm, surging up and dropping his cards, while Galadriel tsked in annoyance. “Moryo, get your ass up, we’ve got a family grudge match to win.”

“No,” said Caranthir from the floor. “Don’t wanna.”

“Mae?”

“I’m the asshole,” said Maedhros sadly, holding his cards. “A hole in the ass. That’s me.”

“Okay, you’re drunk and weird, you’re out,” said Celegorm, putting his hands on his hips and scanning the room. “Seriously, am all I left with is Káno? Kid couldn’t throw a ball into a cup if his life depended on it.”

“Hey,” said Maglor, who’d been spectating. “I could too – Wait, why am I arguing? I don’t want to play.”

“Moryo,” said Celegorm cajolingly, crouching down and wrapping his arms around Caranthir’s shoulders. “Sweet thing. Best of brothers. Babycakes. C’mon. Kick some Nolofinwion ass with me.”

“Stop stealing my card players,” said Galadriel.

“I give up on this game,” said Argon and did a barrel roll through the circle, sending cards flying. “Let’s play pong and put on bad music.”

“Oh, no you don’t,” said Maglor, leaping up. “The stereo is MY purview now.”

 

* * *

 

 

The living room had long since been coopted by dancing and music, and to her surprise, Amarië was enjoying herself as she danced alongside Galadriel, whose pigtails were starting to come undone.

A slender figure with long pale hair, wedged himself through the crowd. “Um, excuse me, sorry, oh goodness, didn’t mean to touch you there, excuse me…”

Galadriel’s face lit up. “Teleporno!” She threw her arms around Celeborn’s neck as he squeezed himself through the press of bodies towards them. “You came!”

“Yes.” Celeborn hugged her back. “Ooh, your shirt looks interesting, what does it say?”

“Suns Out Guns Out.” Galadriel flexed illustratively, or tried to, tipping slightly against his side. “It’s about flagrantly displaying one’s triceps and related muscle groups while increasing one’s chances of melanoma. What are you wearing?”

Celeborn looked down at himself. “It said douchebag chic.”

“That’s a three piece suit.”

“Well, who’s douchier than the Man?”

“Too true,” said Fingon, appearing with Turgon at his side. “As a loyal minion of the Man, I can confirm this. Look, drunk Turno!” And he vanished again.

Turgon looked like all his joints were somewhat looser than usual as he beamed at them and waved one hand, sloshing beer over Amarië in the process. “Hallo! Oh, no, Amarië, I’m so sorry. Your pretty shirt…” He tried to blot the damage, but had only his hands to do so, and withdrew utterly abashed after he laid his hands over her breasts by accident. “I am _so_ sorry.”

Amarië smiled, only a little embarrassed. Galadriel had wrapped herself around Celeborn and was kissing him enthusiastically. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Whatta klutz I am,” muttered Turgon, and very carefully set his beer on the floor, where it was promptly knocked over. “Oh, _damn._ ”

Amarië grabbed him by the arms before he could cause another mess, and pulled him gently away from the worst of the crowd. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Yes.” He grinned at her happily. “I am Not Caring about things tonight.”

“I like that plan. Can I join?”

“Of course!” Turgon gestured expansively. “It’s a great club. Membership costs…nothing. Just willpower.”

“I’m going to try and manage it.” Amarië nodded decisively, and then her eyes lit up as the music changed. “Oh my god, I love this song.”

“Me too!”

“Really?”

“The summer this was on the radio all the time I was on a road trip with my family, and it played constantly.” Turgon groaned. “So me and my siblings decided to choreograph a dance to it in our hotel room each night at the end of the day. Our parents were too tired to do anything but watch.”

“Did they like it?”

“Hell yes.” Turgon beamed again, and Amarië was struck by how young – and how handsome – he looked when he truly smiled, with no worry line creasing his brow. “We are amazing choreographers, you know.”

“Oh, yeah?” Amarië put her hands on her hips.

“Oooh, you’re a choreographer too, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“We’re even _better_.”

“I think you’d better prove it.” Amarië narrowed her eyes at him teasingly, and Turgon gave a dramatic gasp.

“A challenge? Oh, you’re on. Okay, okay, let’s see if I remember.” He nodded his head to the beat for a moment, counting under his breath, and then, to her delight, sprang into a routine. “Yeah! Still got it! Okay, hang on…grapevine...and spin…” He whirled around and she dodged out of his way, laughing. “Hang on hang on, this part is where I need a…a partner…” He reached for her, and then paused. “May I?”

“Yes,” she said, surprising herself for at least the third time that evening.

“Okay good.” He laid his hand with surprising gentleness on her waist, and then, so quickly that she gasped out a laugh, dipped her. “Hah, you weigh a lot less than Findekáno.”

She laughed again. When he brought her upright, he didn’t let go of her, and Amarië, reaching up to brush a curl of hair out of his eyes, found she didn’t mind.

The song changed, but Turgon didn't let go of her. Amarië looped her arms around his neck, and held him back.

 

* * *

 

 

Curufin balanced his laptop on his knees as he worked, and Finrod had ended up propped against his shins as he read, using him as a backrest. When Curufin put the computer down, however, and stretched out his legs, Finrod shifted back and ended up with his back to Curufin’s chest, stretched out between his bent knees. He was still absorbed in his book, however, and Curufin simply settled back against the pillows and picked up his own reading, which he propped on Finrod’s shoulder. Usually this kind of prolonged contact would annoy him, but something about Finrod’s light weight against him was reassuring and even pleasing. He let his chin rest on Finrod’s head, turning the pages of his book almost absently, not quite absorbing the words. Finrod half turned his head, enough so that Curufin could see he was smiling, and without thinking much about it, Curufin dropped his book off to the side and leaned forward to kiss him. These were the times he liked best; when both of them had their clothes on, and there was no touching that would make him panic; simply Finrod’s warm weight against him, and the press of their lips together, and the feather-light touch of Finrod’s fingers at his jaw.

They broke apart finally, and Finrod turned over so they were chest to chest. He laid his head against Curufin’s shoulder, wrapping his arms lightly around Curufin’s waist as he stretched out between Curufin’s legs.

It was an intimate position, but Curufin didn’t mind, though one of his legs was starting to fall asleep. Reflexively, he checked his watch, and Finrod pushed himself upright. “It’s late,” Curufin said, realizing suddenly how tired he was. “I should go.” He sighed heavily, remembering. “God, but that stupid party is still probably taking place at my house.”

“You can stay here,” Finrod offered. “Spend the night if you want to avoid the chaos.”

Curufin looked down at the bedclothes, slightly mussed, and sudden panic filled him. Spend the night, in Finrod’s bed. Spend the night with their bodies pressed close together, Finrod’s breath on his cheek, or the back of his neck. He didn’t think he could fall asleep with someone in such close proximity. Someone, perhaps wearing far less clothing. Weren’t certain things assumed if one spent the night? Was Finrod hoping for such things? He thought of the nights Finrod had spent in his own house, but in Caranthir’s room. In Caranthir’s bed. What if that was what Finrod wanted from him?

Suddenly, Curufin wanted to push Finrod far away.

He must have stiffened visibly, because in the space of a blink, Finrod had suddenly increased the distance between them. They weren’t touching now, and Finrod had laid his hands deliberately on his own knees.

“No strings attached,” he said gently. “Just sleeping. We don’t even have to share a bed; I can sleep on the chair, or the couch, or whatever, it’s not a problem.”

Curufin stared at his hands. “Right.”

“I just wanted to give you the option of staying here if you don’t want to deal with the party.”

“Right.”

Finrod reached out, then, because as Curufin was learning, Finrod found it hard to not to touch, in comfort or reassurance. “Curvo, don’t worry about it. Whatever you’d like is fine, I just want you to be able to get a good night’s sleep.” Curufin allowed the hand on his shoulder, even leaned into it a bit. “Either way, it’s your call. You’ve got options.”

“I think I want to go home.”

“No problem.” Finrod scooted back next to him on the bed and put an arm around his shoulders. “I can give you a ride, if you’d like.”

“That’s not necess– ”

“It’s pretty late, actually, and you have to go across town. Please let me give you a ride.”

“Okay.”

Finrod leaned his forehead lightly against Curufin’s temple. “Is it okay if I kiss you now?”

Curufin turned his head so that he could feel Finrod’s breath on his lips. “Yes.” He inhaled, and closed his eyes. “Yes, please.”

 

-

 

In the car, Curufin laughed a little as Finrod tried to pull out of the parking spot, and ended up revving the car wildly in neutral.

“Stop laughing, this is Turno’s car and I’m not used to driving stick!”

“I’m starting to think I’d be safer walking home in the dark,” said Curufin, as Finrod finally managed to shift into first and pull forward with only a bit of a lurch. “Muggers and murderers are nothing compared to an Arafinwion who doesn’t know how to use a clutch.”

“Hush, you,” said Finrod, checking his blind spot as he pulled onto the main street. “I’ve heard stories of your driving exploits, you are hardly one to talk.”

“What driving exploits? I haven’t been behind the wheel of a car since I was 16.”

“For good reason, I hear.”

“Tyelko is a filthy liar. I _passed_ my driving test, didn’t I?”

“I didn’t hear about it from Tyelko. And yes, you passed. By what, the third or fourth time?”

“Nelyo is a liar too. It was the third time, and I only failed the second because of a technicality.”

“But you failed the first because of an actual _accident_.”

“I don’t have to put up with this abuse from someone who can’t even downshift properly.”

Finrod grinned, and slid the car into third. “You are free to start ignoring me any time.”

“I would if I could,” Curufin muttered, and looked pointedly out the window as Finrod laughed.

 

-

 

They pulled up in front of the house, and Finrod raised his eyebrows.

“Quite the crowd they’ve got here.”

Curufin stared at the scene with grim displeasure. Even from inside the car, the thud of the bass could be felt pulsing through the floor, and there were so many people in the house a couple were actually perched on the windowsills, unable to fit inside. “This is going to be a nightmare.”

Finrod chewed his lip. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I’ll just go to my room and put my headphones on,” said Curufin. “I’ll…work until they disperse. Hopefully that won’t be much longer.” He unbuckled his seatbelt and opened his door, grabbing his jacket and computer case from the floor by his feet.

“Wait,” said Finrod, and reached out.

Curufin looked back at him, then rolled his eyes, but half smiled. He leaned across the seat and their lips brushed, once.

“Sleep well,” said Finrod, sitting back behind the wheel. “I hope it’s not too bad in there.”

“Me too.” Curufin swung his jacket over his shoulder, shut the car door, and strode up the walkway. Finrod watched him go up the steps, watched the front door close behind him. But something made him hesitate before driving away, kept him idling at the curb.

And within a minute…

Curufin was back outside, darting down the path, and throwing himself back into the car. “I can’t do it,” he said, breathing heavily and staring at the dashboard. “I can’t do it, my god, it is a madhouse in there, I think I’ll go crazy…”

“Do you want to stay at my place after all?”

“No,” said Curufin miserably. “I want to be in my own room tonight. I just want… Why do they have to… This is hell.”

Finrod thought a moment, and then shut the car off. “Let me go in with you,” he said. “We can go hang out in your room, you can put your own music on, we can talk and read and work, and if the noise gets too bad, I can distract you by telling you about my dissertation and you can tell me all the ways I’m fundamentally wrong. I know it’s lousy tonight, but misery loves company, right? At least you won’t have to face it alone, and you’ll have someone to vent to.”

“You really think that’ll make it any better?”

“Your other option is just to sit in the car for the rest of the night.”

“Okay,” said Curufin. “Okay, yes. Come in with me.”

He got out of the car again, and this time, Finrod came with him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. So I got 19 pages in and realized it was all foreplay. The climax comes next chapter (eyyy), because DAMN THIS PARTY WON’T END  
> 2\. An explanation of Polish Horseshoes can be found [here](http://imindhowwelayinjune.tumblr.com/post/124253223523/wait-what-is-polish-horseshoes).  
> 3\. Thanks to some amazing artists, there are now two illustrations for this chapter! One is [Aredhel in all her glory by Jules](http://jul-likes-magpies.tumblr.com/post/129239353110/for-some-reason-it-stuck-in-my-head-that-it-was), and [Ilweran brings us precious beans Turgon and Amarie](http://cocchilweran.tumblr.com/post/125785604751/these-cuties-ughhhhh-a-little-sketch-for).


	58. If you need love turn around, do the helicopter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party continues, climaxes, concludes. Rather like the proper narrative arc that has been proving so elusive to me.

Glorfindel let himself out of the door into the backyard, looking around. His long hair was tied up in a messy knot on the top of his head, held out of his eyes by a frayed brim visor, and he was wearing a cut-off t-shirt that read  _MAKE ME SCRUM._

He made his way over to a group surrounding a battered old tree stump, and Celegorm greeted him jovially.

“Yo, Glorfindel! What’s up?”

“I was just seeking the Stump players,” said Glorfindel, smiling. “I see I’ve found them.”

“Welcome,” said Aegnor, touching his hat brim in salute. “You must be the stranger with good taste from the email thread. Nice shirt.”

“Thanks. I see I could have just come without, though.” Glorfindel eyed Celegorm, who had long since shed his top. “Nice tattoo, dude. Looks…familiar.”

Celegorm winked at him. “Thanks.”

“When did you get that?”

“This winter.”

Glorfindel gazed briefly skyward, like he was contemplating how bold he dared to be. Aegnor pressed a beer into his hand, foaming from the keg, and Glorfindel looked back at Celegorm, a twinkle in his eyes. “Did he like it?”

Celegorm chuckled and passed Glorfindel a nail. “You better believe it.”

“Okay, right, that’s my comfort zone, right there, I wondered where it was.” Glorfindel took a deep drink from his cup. “Mild innuendos about our coach, yup, that’s about all I’ve got the tolerance for.”

“You started it.” But Celegorm looked unoffended as he tossed a hammer to Aegnor. “We gonna get this shit started?”

“Yeah, let’s do it.” Aegnor took a nail from where it was tucked behind his ear and set it lightly, point-first, in the stump. “Y’all know the rules, or am I gonna have to enlighten you?”

-

The game started merrily enough, each player gripping a beer in one hand as they flipped, caught, and swung the hammer with the other, trying to drive each other’s nails into the stump.

“Ahh, come on, what did I ever do to you?”

“You pushed me into the duck pond when we were six.”

“I thought we were past that.”

“Nope. Take a drink.”

But soon, a disagreement over perceived cheating quickly devolved into two players standing toe to toe, yelling at each other while the others backed slowly away.

“Who knows the game better, you or me?”

“Don’t patronize me. Which of us was actually paying attention?”

“I’m telling you, it was to the left, just accept it.” 

“Are you kidding? You weren’t even watching, how can you have an opinion on this?”

“Oh, so now you get pissed that I have an opinion. Used to be that you’d bitch at me for not ‘expressing myself’ enough…”

“There’s a difference between you being a detached, emotionally distant asshole, and this!”

“Emotionally distant? That shows how much attention you paid. Do you have any clue how hard it was for me when – ”

“No, I don’t, because you never told me yourself. You got your fucking _brother_ to do it instead!”

“Something tells me,” said Glorfindel quietly to Celegorm, who was watching Aegnor and Andreth and shaking his head. “That this is not actually about rule violation.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Celegorm tipped his beer absently onto Fingon’s shirt, making Fingon yelp and jump back.

“What was that for?”

“Just trying to create a diversion.”

“It’s not working,” said Fingon, peeved, wringing out his shirt. "Damn, you are really batting 1000 with me tonight, Tyelkormo."

Andreth was almost standing on her tiptoes now, trying to get up in Aegnor’s face. “You always think you know what’s best, even when you have no fucking idea, that’s always been your problem. You think you’re doing the best thing for someone, or that you have some authority to call what a situation is, when really you’re just a clueless, pathetic, _child._ ”

“Fuck this,” said Aegnor, wheeling around. “I’m out.”

“Classic,” sneered Andreth. “Leave once you feel like you can’t control things anymore. Run away. Typical.”

“Hey, Andreth…” Fingon made an attempt to reach out to her, but she jerked away and spat something about _enough help from this damn family_ , and then Celegorm was saying something to Fingon, and Aredhel was striding across the lawn looking unhappy.

Humming lightly, Glorfindel retreated to the hammock strung between two trees, where two people were half watching the proceedings and half talking amongst themselves.

“Mind if I crash your pow-wow?”

 

* * *

 

 

Finrod slipped through the front door behind Curufin, and almost immediately regretted it. The music was loud and the atmosphere close and hot, but the worst of it was how part of him yearned to be part of it. He remembered these parties so well: playing games and teasing his cousins; winning games of beer pong with Amarië the laughing ringer at his side; talking smack with Turgon on the sidelines; and, more recently, slipping off with Caranthir to hook up in secluded corners. The yearning to _join_ tugged at him, and he tried to push it away, glancing around with attempted detachment instead. There was a group playing flip cup on the kitchen table, and several people perched on the countertops having the heartfelt discussions of the profoundly unsober. He looked up as someone clattered down the stairs, and froze when he saw it was Caranthir, Haleth at his side.

“Yo, tell people if they use the upstairs bathroom to stop leaving beer cans on the sink, damn,” Caranthir was saying.

“Why can’t they just go downstairs?”

“Someone’s fucking in the downstairs bathroom – or puking, I can’t tell.”

“Oooh, who’s hooking up?”

“I can’t tell; I’d put money on it being Nelyo and Findekáno but I think Findekáno’s still out playing Stump…” Caranthir reached the bottom step and looked up to meet Finrod’s eyes. “Hunh.” He paused, one foot still on the stairs, then curled his lip and raised a hand in a sardonic wave. He ignored Curufin completely.

Finrod swallowed and quickly looked away as he continued to push through the crowd. The living room had been transformed into a dance floor, and he could see his sister being swung around exuberantly by Celeborn, who appeared to be in a suit two sizes too big for him. Next to them, another couple was dancing, heads close together, hips tight. The girl was tall and blonde, the boy even taller and with dark curly hair.

It was Turgon and Amarië.

 

* * *

 

 

Glorfindel came to a halt in front of the hammock and put his hands in his pockets, nodding to the occupants. “Hey, Maglor, long time no see.”

“Glorfindel!” Maglor half sat up in the hammock, causing Maedhros to shift and roll against him. “Oof, shove off, Nelyo.”

“Stop moving,” grumbled Maedhros, but pulled himself upright.

Maglor scooted over. “Yeah, come visit with us! I mean, I know you were playing, but – ”

“I actually just got out,” said Glorfindel ruefully, sitting down between them. “My nail is what those two are fighting about.”

“Ahh, so it’s your fault.”

“Don’t worry,” said Maedhros, seeing Glorfindel’s mouth drop open apologetically, “they were bound to get into it sometime tonight. Who thought it was a good idea to invite both?”

“Tyelko probably invited Aiko, and Irissë probably invited Andreth, but I mean, it’s been a year…”

“Some people are going to have tension no matter how long it’s been,” said Maedhros wisely, and Maglor dragged his heels grudgingly along the ground.

“So,” said Maglor, after a pause. “Have you heard anything from Ecthelion recently?”

“A little.” Glorfindel’s eyes lit up. “I mean, he doesn’t have much free time, but he’s written me a couple times. Obviously nothing in depth, because, you know, he’s Ecthelion, and he keeps things to the point…” He trailed off. “But yes. It seems like he’s surviving basic.” He smiled. “Of course he is, though. I remember him getting mocked by the jocks for being a band geek, and then watching him casually kick their asses in every sport there was. And this one time, when some asshole tried to steal his flute, he literally threw him across the hallway and into the lockers. It was great.”

Maglor swung his legs idly. “You’ve been friends since high school, then?”

“Well, not friends really.” Glorfindel colored slightly. “He was a senior, and I was a sophomore, and…well, he was hard to miss, right? You notice someone like that, but they don’t necessarily notice you back. We didn’t become friends until we ended up at college together.”

“You seem to miss him a lot.”

“Yeah.” Glorfindel stared at the tiki torches wafting their citronella smoke over the backyard. “I wish he… But I’m glad he’s doing what he’s been planning on for all these years.” He shook himself, as if shrugging off something tickling the back of his neck, and turned a bright smile on Maglor. “Are you still in touch with Ríanellë?”

“Oops,” said Maedhros. Across the yard, the stump game had picked up again, though Aegnor and Andreth seemed to have disappeared to take their argument elsewhere.

“What, did I say something wrong?” Glorfindel looked between them.

“No, no problem,” said Maglor, giving Maedhros the stink eye. “Um. Yes, I’ve seen her some. Mae has seen her more, though. They worked together this spring.”

“Oh, neat! Were you DJ-ing with her?”

“What?” Both Maedhros and Maglor frowned at Glorfindel.

“Uhh. Her job? At the club? Is that not what you’re…talking about…?”

“She DJs?” Maedhros was looking at Maglor.

“Not that she told me!” Maglor dug his toes into the grass. “Lots of things she doesn’t tell me.”

A silence fell then, and Glorfindel twiddled his thumbs. Crickets chirped, and the torches flared as a light breeze swept across the yard.

“Sooo,” Glorfindel said at last. “Where were you working with her, then?”

No one answered.

“Maedhros?”

“Eh?” said Maedhros vaguely. He was watching the figures gathered around the stump. Fingon had pulled off his beer-sodden shirt and was in the process of flipping the hammer.

“I asked if – ”

“He’s not paying attention,” said Maglor with fond resignation. “He’s watching Findekáno’s arms.”

“Am not.”

“Oh, right, it’s his back you have a thing for, isn’t it?”

“Hum,” said Maedhros, still not focusing.

“Pathetic.”

Just then, a yell from the house disrupted them and cause everyone to look around.

“Hey, Celegorm! Someone’s saying the cops are here?”

“What?” Celegorm spun around. “Jesus fuck. Seriously? Did the fucking neighbors call them? It’s barely past midnight…”

“I dunno, but someone was saying there were two narcs in the front yard.”

“ _What_?” Celegorm dashed around the corner of the house. Everyone waited. Then a loud laugh came, and Celegorm’s delighted voice.

“Hah! Figures.”

 

* * *

 

 

Amarië hadn’t had a thing to drink, but her head was swimming in a not altogether unpleasant way as she tightened her arms around Turgon’s neck. He was close enough that she could feel his breath on her cheek, and she knew if she just tipped her head back, their eyes would meet. And she’d be close enough to…to…

Nerves and exhilaration rose up in her, and she tried to gear herself up to do it, to raise her head and meet Turgon’s eyes and see his sweet, sideways smile and maybe, maybe, to press her lips against it. _Do it,_ a voice chanted in her head, the voice she sometimes thought of as her inner Andreth, who was afraid of nothing. _Take a risk, for once!_

Amarië could feel Turgon’s hand shift on her low back, his thumb rubbing a small circle against the skin bared by her top. She took a deep breath, raised her head…

…and saw Finrod.

Over Turgon’s shoulder their eyes met, his wide and surprised, and all the air went out of Amarië’s lungs.

Then he was gone, tugged along and up the stairs by Curufin, who had reached back and seized his wrist, apparently noticing neither Finrod’s shocked stare nor the reason for it.

Amarië realized she was trembling. It was like a veil had been lifted from the room, and everything that had seemed transported and heady suddenly felt bleak and seedy. The music drummed into her temples, lighting a pain behind her eyes, and she was hyper-conscious of the sweat of everyone around her, the stink of too many bodies, the way her own skin was clammy and damp. She released Turgon without realizing it, and it wasn’t until she heard him say, “Hey, what’s wrong?” that she even remembered he was there.

“Nothing,” she said faintly. “I…I need some fresh air. I don’t feel well.”

“D’you need some water? The bathroom? Can I take you to – ” She could feel Turgon laying a gentle hand to her face, which she could tell was going splotchy like it did when she was having a panic attack, her rosacea flaring up when triggered by stress or anxiety or embarrassment.

“No.” She ducked his hand and tried to fight her way through the crowd, desperate to get out of the house, a hard knot settling deep in the pit of her stomach. “No, I just need to…need to get out…”

She vanished through the crowd, leaving Turgon standing there, bewildered and concerned. “What just happened?” he asked no one in particular.

There was a snort from a long figure propped against the wall. “I’m not a betting man,” said Caranthir dryly, “but I’d say it was because Finrod just came through here.”

 

* * *

 

 

Oromë stood on the sidewalk and regarded the house. Lights blazed from downstairs windows, while in the back yard several figures did something involving what looked like a hammer and a stump. Oromë decided he didn’t want to know. Heavy bass thudded from the house, along with whoops, laughter, and shouted conversation.

“ ‘Come over tonight’,” he muttered to himself. “ ‘We’re having a few friends over but it’ll be totally chill.’ Good lord, Tyelko.” There was a thump from the backyard, and several cheers. Oromë gazed at the sky and wondered how far he had fallen that when he’d been invited to his twenty-something boyfriend’s house ‘to hang with friends’ on a Saturday night, he had not considered this was what he would be getting. “So far gone,” he muttered. “So far gone.”

“Yikes,” said a voice at his elbow. “How much would you need to be paid to go in there? I’m wavering at several grand, myself.”

Oromë looked down and saw a lean, spiky haired woman standing next to him, her arms also crossed, examining the house with equal skepticism.

“Consider whatever they would pay me a donation to your own fund,” said Oromë. “There may not be enough money in the world to make me attempt that house.”

“Wise.” The woman stuck out a hand, still studying the scene. “I’m Lalwen.”

“Oromë.”

“I know.” Lalwen winked at him. “I think you’re dating my nephew.”

“You – You’re Tyelko’s aunt?”

“Yes, I know, I’m terribly youthful for my maiden aunt status. But yep, I have the dubious honor of having been your young hooligan’s first babysitter.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Oromë cautiously, not sure if this was in fact the case.

“Don’t worry, I don’t share my brother’s ambivalence about you. Big fan, actually, I dated half the women’s rugby team in college and I remember reading about you while hiding in the locker-room one time. I watched you in the ’02 final against Chile – Can you still do a backflip?”

“You are definitely Tyelko’s aunt,” said Oromë, and she laughed.

“Is that a no?”

“That’s a ‘I don’t drink enough anymore to try it’.”

“What a shame, there’s probably enough booze at this party to get my mother doing backflips.”

Oromë shook his head and sank down on the grass. “I’m going to stay out here.”

“Want any company?”

“It would be _most_ welcome.”

“Good, we can talk about all the shit we’re too old for, and how many hours ago I would have called the police if I were these ruffians’ neighbors. Also we can talk about how you’re dating my nephew, and why. I have many questions. For example, are you _crazy_? Have you _met_ Tyelko?”

“You know, you’re not the first person to ask me about my sanity. I don’t know if I should be more offended on my behalf or Tyelko’s.”

Two straggling party guests shuffled up the walk way, casting wary glances at the two figures laughing on the lawn.

“Shit, man, that guy is huge.”

“And she looks intense as shit.”

“Undercover cops?”

“Almost definitely.”

“Do you think they can tell I’m high from here?”

“We’ve got a fifty-four eighty on the lambo in Zagreb,” muttered Lalwen, pretending to use her phone as a radio, and the two guests sprinted up the walkway to vanish into the house while Oromë laughed.

 

* * *

 

 

“Hah! Figures.”

Celegorm dashed out into the front yard where two figures were reclining on the grass. It was dark, and their features were cast in shadow, but the larger of the two was unmistakable. Laughing, he threw himself at Oromë and hung over his shoulder.

“Hey, asshole, what are you doing out here? Scaring my guests?”

Oromë looked over his shoulder and reached back to slide an arm around Celegorm’s waist and pull him around. “Ah, so only now does the host greet me.”

“Sorry about that.” Celegorm proceeded to show the depth of his remorse by kissing Oromë enthusiastically until a sharp whistle made him pull back.

“Watch it,” said Lalwen, who was sitting cross-legged on the grass. “There’s only so much of the hanky-panky I can take before the spirit of your father possesses me and does something drastic.”

“My apologies,” said Oromë, carefully disentangling himself from Celegorm. “Inappropriate.”

“Quite clearly not your fault, but the blond brat’s,” said Lalwen, throwing some grass at her nephew. “Control yourself, will you?”

“Auntie,” said Celegorm brightly. “You came!”

“Is there a place a thirty-something would rather be than a fratty twenty-something house party?” asked Lalwen, rhetorically.

“Possibly in a decommissioned nuclear submarine,” said Oromë.

“Or an abandoned mental hospital.”

“Or a Donald Trump rally.”

“Or getting vaginal rejuvenation.”

“Or – ”

“Okay, wiseasses,” said Celegorm. “I get it. You’re too good for my party. You both showed up, didn’t you?”

“Motivated by baser instincts, most like,” said Lalwen, winking at Oromë.

“No,” said Oromë, looking distressed. “It was not simply – I was just being – ”

“I was talking about my own baser instincts, slow your roll,” said Lalwen, and flailed as another figure dashed out of the night and bowled her over. “Oof. Hey, honey.”

“See?” said Celegorm, settling himself in Oromë’s lap as Haleth pushed Lalwen to the grass and kissed her. “You’re not alone in debasing the young.”

“Ooh, I am mightily reassured.”

“Glorfindel’s here, you should say hi.”

Oromë groaned. “This is why I haven’t gone in. My god, Tyelko, does the word ‘awkward’ mean nothing to you?”

“Babe, you’ve known me for five years.” Celegorm kissed Oromë’s cheek. “You know I don’t fuck with ‘awkward’. Doesn’t exist for me.”

“So far gone,” said Oromë, to the heavens.

“What is?”

“I am.”

“Are you?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You, me, Haleth, Lalwen, doubles beer pong?”

“ _So_ far gone,” said Oromë, and dropped back down on the grass.

“Typical narc,” said Celegorm, and followed him.

-

The party wrapped up not long after, Lalwen steering Haleth down the walk to the car, and teasing her about how she smelled of Purple Kush.

“I think I’ll stay here,” said Caranthir carelessly, who had gone outside to sit on the lawn and share a cigarette with Maglor and was now sitting on the stairs in front of his brother while Maglor rested his elbows on Caranthir’s shoulders. “You know, if you haven’t rented out my room yet or anything. Give Haleth and Lalwen the house to themselves for once.” The front door was propped open, and a cool breeze blew pleasantly into the house, alleviating some of the heat and heaviness left by the party. 

“Of course,” said Maglor, scrubbing up Caranthir’s hair and pocketing the half smoked joint he found tucked behind Caranthir’s ear. “You can stay as long as you want, you know that.”

“We’re staying too,” said Fingon, propping up a listing Maedhros who was wrapped around him and nuzzling into his neck.

“You know his room is occupied, right?” said Aredhel, who was now wearing both Fingon’s trucker hat and her own. She had shed her shirt around the same time as Celegorm and was just in her sports bra.

Maedhros giggled faintly and whispered something into Fingon’s ear.

Fingon shook his head, grinning. “We can take the couch,” he said, dropping Maedhros onto it. “But I would like to remind you of how many nights I spent in the same bed you are currently occupying, Ireth.”

“Ack,” said Aredhel. “Grooooss.”

“I hope you’ve changed the sheets, is all.”

“Of course I have, you freak. I’m going to go drunk Skype Elenwë now.”

“We’re heading out,” said Celeborn, appearing from the back hallway with Galadriel hanging heavily off his shoulder. “I think Artanis needs some sleep.”

“Remind her we have coffee tomorrow!” called Aredhel and vanished up the stairs.

“C’mon,” said Celegorm, pulling Oromë upstairs after him. “Let’s test the structural integrity of my bed.”

“Hey, Coach,” said Glorfindel, who’d been sitting unobtrusively on the kitchen table. “Have fun.” He grinned. “I think alcohol has revised my comfort boundaries.”

“Good for you, G,” said Celegorm. “Now shut up.”

Oromë waved back helplessly as Celegorm dragged him off. “Um, good to see you, Glorfindel.”

“How drunk are you?” asked Maglor examining Glorfindel, who was chuckling and swinging his legs.

“Lots to totally,” said Glorfindel. “And I lost a toenail playing stump.”

“Okay,” said Maglor, “you’re not trying to get home like this. Come on, I’ve been told I have a very comfortable floor.”

 

* * *

 

 

In Curufin’s room, Finrod looked up as the last of the upstairs doors shut.

“I think the party is officially over,” he said softly to Curufin, who was perched on the bed with his laptop.

Finrod had been quiet ever since they’d gotten upstairs, but Curufin hadn’t minded, all too eager to put on his noise canceling headphones and work for a while with Finrod at his side.

“What’s up with you?” he’d asked at one point, when he’d looked over and noticed Finrod staring into space, his arms clasped loosely around his knees.

“Nothing,” said Finrod. “Just tired.”

Curufin had studied him a moment longer, but then there’d been another surge of noise from downstairs, and he’d ground his teeth and dropped his headphones back over his ears.

“Good,” said Curufin, now, kicking the blankets back and closing his laptop. “Then I can go to sleep.”

Finrod stretched out his legs, looking tired. He glanced over at Curufin. “Would you like me to go home?”

“No,” said Curufin, grabbing his pajamas from under the pillow and starting to wiggle out of his clothes. “You can stay, if you want.”

Finrod nodded, still looking distracted, and started to undo his belt. Before he got into bed, he seemed to pause a moment to take a breath and shake something from his shoulders. "I'm glad you don't mind me staying. I would risk falling asleep behind the wheel if I tried to drive home." He smiled, and the smile became genuine as Curufin flicked the blankets back and jerked his head once to beckon FInrod over.

"Good thing you're not going anywhere, then."

"It is a good thing." Finrod slid into bed next to him in just his tee-shirt and boxers, and Curufin turned over. As Curufin pressed himself close to the wall, he felt Finrod lay a light hand on his hip.

“Is this going to be comfortable enough for you?” Finrod murmured.

“Yes.” Curufin closed his eyes. _I’m glad you’re here_ , he thought, but decided not to say it.

Finrod didn’t say anything else, but laid a soft kiss to Curufin’s shoulder before laying his head down on the pillow next to him. They only touched where Finrod’s hand met Curufin’s side, and Curufin quickly drifted off, more comfortable than he thought he'd capable of with another warm body at his back. Fast asleep, relieved for quiet and worn out by the day, he didn’t notice that it was a long time before Finrod’s breaths evened out and matched his own in sleep.

~*~

* * *

 

~*~

 

It was a rather subdued morning at Cuiviénen. Andreth was tucked away in an overlarge infinity scarf, so thoroughly swaddled they couldn’t even tell if she was awake. Amarië was pale and unhappy looking, with dark circles under her eyes. Galadriel was clammy and a little green around the gills, stirring her coffee mechanically but not sipping it.

Aredhel dropped her sunglasses down her nose and regarded her erstwhile friends. Despite having drunk the most the night before, she was by far the most alert of the bunch. “Okay, which of you bitches wants to start the debriefing?”

“Na’ me,” mumbled Andreth, retreating further into her scarf.

“Mmhmm. Amarië, you want to share why you look like someone kicked your dog? Everything okay?”

“Yes,” said Amarië miserably. “Everything’s fine.”

“Oooh, so convincing.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Artanis?” said Aredhel brightly, turning to her cousin. “Anything to add?”

“I’m unemployed, and I have to tell my dad I’m not planning on going to grad school,” said Galadriel unexpectedly, and then got up. “Do excuse me, I’m going to be violently ill in the bathroom now.”

“Well,” said Aredhel, shaking her head and folding her arms as Galadriel walked very fast towards the back of the cafe. “I take it this means our party was either a smashing success or an abysmal failure. I say, when it’s that hard to tell between the extremes, you’ve done something right.”

Amarië’s phone rang, and she jumped. She looked down at it. “Sorry,” she said, a flush rising in her cheeks. “I have to... I should…” She stood hurriedly and rushed out onto the sidewalk.

“Y’all are a shit show.” Aredhel looked at Andreth. “And you. Where’d you end up last night? You look cagey as hell.”

“Who, me?”

“What a turn of events,” said Aredhel, sighing. “That I am the least of the hot messes the day after a party. Hey, are you too hungover to take a picture? I need to commemorate this moment.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Glorfindel's shirt is a real, purchasable thing. In case you're interested.  
> 1\. [ETA] For a brief, indulgent look at the morning after at Casa Feanorion, trundle over to [my Tumblr](http://imindhowwelayinjune.tumblr.com/post/129776287076/id-like-to-know-what-happened-the-morning-after).


	59. Some people call it crazy, I call it healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How many chapters can be summarized by saying ‘people have conversations that needed to be had, sort of’? Add this one to the pile. Also includes Skype, unlikely heart to hearts, and Beleg honestly getting ready to shank a bitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. One scene involves a frankish discussion of sexuality.  
> 1\. The Narn keeps being irresistible to me, goddamnit.

Mablung ran a comb through his wet hair, looked in the mirror, poked dispiritedly at his cowlick, and sighed. “I don’t know why I’m trying so hard,” he muttered. “He knows me, right? He’s not going to care if my shirt’s tucked in or not.” But he glanced down and tucked his shirt in, just in case. “Remind me why I’m doing this?”

“Shh,” said Beleg tersely.

Mablung turned around and tried hard not to sigh again, this time in exasperation. “How long have you been on the phone this time?”

Beleg wasn’t paying attention to him. He’d turned on his heel and was pacing back down the hallway of their apartment, phone pressed to his ear. “Yes – I told you, I got your number from a mutual friend, okay? I don’t _care_ about you, no, I am _not_ with the police, stop calling me a narc, I’m just trying to locate a friend of mine. No, wait, let me finish – ”

Mablung shook his head. Beleg had gone around the bend, as far as he could tell. Day in and day out, there was one thing on his mind, and as far as Mablung could tell, his obsession wasn’t affording him any progress. “At least tell me you’ve eaten today,” he said quietly, but Beleg ignored him.

“No, I’m going to keep calling until I get answers. I just need a way to get ahold of him, _please_. I told you – Túrin. With a T. Nineteen, dark hair, he’s an athlete, and – _Túrin._ That’s what I said!”

Mablung watched, pity rising. He would have lost his temper long ago, thrown the phone at something, and stomped off to make someone else’s life hell. But Beleg was endlessly patient.

Until now, anyway.

Mablung jumped as Beleg let out a cry of frustration and slammed his fist against the wall. “That doesn’t make any sense! Listen, you son of a bitch, if you don’t give me a straight fucking answer, I'm going to – Wait. What did you say? I don't und - But I told you, his name is… Okay, okay, I'm listening, hang on, let me get a pen.” Suddenly frantic, Beleg was casting about for something to write with. Mablung tossed him a pen from the counter next to him, and Beleg started scribbling on the wall.

“Oh, nice,” mumbled Mablung. “There goes my deposit.”

“I ask for…Say that again? And wait…repeat that name. You’re sure…you’re sure that’s what it is?” He listened, tracing the lines into the wall, and Mablung could see his chest rise and fall with several deep breaths. “Okay. Okay. Thank you. _Thank you_.”

Beleg hung up, his hand trembling, and Mablung craned to see what he’d written on the wall.

_N E I T H A N_

 

* * *

 

 

_Amarië_

_Amarië, hey_

_Can we talk?_

_You left so quick last weekend._

_I’ve been trying to get ahold of you_

_I thought when you answered my call the next morning it meant we had things sorted out_

_But you didn’t actually give me any answers_

_Amarië I’m sorry I’m blowing up your phone with all these texts_

_For like three days straight_

_I know I’m doing myself no favors_

_And yet here I am again. Day...four? Good morning._

_This is about Findaráto isn’t it?_

_I get it, I do_

_He’s my best friend_

_He’s my cousin_

_He’s your ex_

_He’s my roommate, oh jeez_

_But_

_Ugh_

_I just want to talk to you_

_Hey Turno_

_HEY!_

_I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner_

_It’s ok!_

_No, it’s not._

_I was just being a coward, I guess_

_Ignoring things is easier?_

_But I don’t like ignoring you_

_Really?_

_Lol. Really._

_I’m glad to hear that_

_I think I like you too much to just avoid you until you give up._

_Oh, wow_

_…did I just say something really stupid?_

_NO_

_No amarie seriously I am so happy right now I am smiling like a freak_

_Ok I’m going to be really uncool right now_

_Do you just mean that like ‘oh he’s a nice person so I’ll be nice back’?_

_Or_

_Or._

_aaah_

_Amarië I really want to ask you out_

_I think I want that too..._

_But I’m not going to lie I’m really scared I’m not ready for this_

_That’s ok_

_I haven’t actually done it yet!_

_I just … want to_

_Um_

_I hate that I’m about to say this and possibly mess everything up_

_But I need to talk to Ingo first_

_I figured._

_I’m sorry!_

_No, it’s good. It’s the right thing to do. No sneaking around, right?_

_God. Yeah. No sneaking around…_

_Whatever ends up happening though?_

_I had a really good time with you last weekend_

_This is going to sound so dumb, but dancing with you was basically the highlight of the last nine months_

_That is SO pathetic sounding I’m sorry_

_No that’s actually really sweet :]_

_I liked it too_

_You’re a good dancer!_

_(I’m a better choreographer though)_

_HAH as if_

_You saw how hard I brought it_

_Yes, I did._

_But I’ll cede you’re probably better on pointe than I am_

_Eh, probably_

_…shit_

_?_

_I REALLY want to ask you out_

_Oh god, Turno, stop being_

_mrrr_

_Stop being what?_

_Cute. It’s killing me._

_Listen, I’m calling Ingo right now, ok?_

_No, that’s a lie, we live together._

_I’m going over to his room now._

_This is beyond weird._

_Do you not want me to?_

_No._

_No, I do._

_Let me know how it goes._

_I will._

_And hey, if you’re lucky, maybe I’ll teach you that choreography later_

_Oooh, lucky indeed :D_

_Ttyl_

_(For the record, you’re really cute too)_

_BYE_

 

-

 

Turgon flung himself up from his bed, dodged Ulmo Jr, who was stretched out on the floor with her feet in the air, and dashed out of the room. At some point halfway down the hall he realized his heart was thundering in his chest and his skin was itchy with nerves.

 _What are you afraid of? He’s your best friend. You’ve been best friends for 16 years. You went to elementary school, middle school, high school, and Hebrew school together. He’s the one you went to when Elenwë left you. He read your application essays. He threw up next to you at senior pub night. You share a guru, albeit a weird one who runs a bar and occasionally sells you peyote. He’s the one you tell everything. He's the one who knows you better than anyone, practically._ _He’s the one who…_

_...broke the heart of the girl you want to ask out._

_This is so weird._

Finrod was at his desk, leaning his cheek on one hand and studying a syllabus with a weary expression. His eyes flicked to Turgon when he appeared in the doorway.

“Hey, Turno. Have you come to relieve me from thinking about the fall semester lesson plan?”

“Isn’t that Professor G’s job?” said Turgon, coming in and getting momentarily distracted.

“Olórin’s travelling, you know, for a change, and he asked me to take ‘a first stab’.” Finrod rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Didn’t the year just end? How am I cursing academia again this soon?”

“Isn’t the plan to be cursing academia for the rest of your professional life?”

Finrod groaned. “Oh god, you’re right. I’m starting to think Artanis had the right idea skipping the ‘grad school immediately after college’ thing. Anyway.” He shook himself and pushed away from his desk. “What’s up?”

“I…” Turgon’s heartbeat was in his ears again. “I had something I wanted to tell you. Ask you?”

“What’s that?”

“I want to ask Amarië out,” blurted Turgon, and involuntarily flinched back.

But Finrod barely reacted, just blinked and said, “Oh!”

“Yes,” said Turgon. “Um. I just, we’ve been hanging out a bit? And we caught up at the party last weekend, you weren’t there but – ”

“No, I was there,” said Finrod lightly. “Only in passing.”

“Oh. I didn’t know. I didn’t see you?”

“I know you didn’t.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. Go on.”

“She and I just get along really well,” Turgon said weakly, “and I realize I really like her, and I want to…take her out. But you’re my best friend, and I know that she’s your ex and it might be…awkward.”

“Does she think it will be?”

“Well, yeah, of course, but she, she kinda seems to want to try anyway.” Turgon tried to fight back the amazed smile that had been wanting to spread over his face ever since Amarië had texted him back. “I mean, I don’t know if anything will come of it, but I don’t know unless we at least try one date.”

Finrod didn’t say anything.

“I honestly won’t do this if it’s not okay with you,” said Turgon, who honestly wanted to mean it, but was already preemptively resenting Finrod for his veto.

There was a pause.

Then Finrod tilted his head and turned the corners of his mouth up. “Of course it’s okay.”

“Really?” Turgon asked, taken aback.

“Really. It’s no problem.”

“Are…are you sure?” Turgon wasn't sure at all, but his brain was screaming at him to shut up and take yes for an answer already.

“Of course I am!” Finrod’s smile was very bright. “What right do I have to complain?”

“Well, some right,” said Turgon, feeling flustered. “And just because you think you don’t doesn’t mean you can’t. You know? I just want to know if you are. Do. Object?”

“I don’t think that was real English,” said Finrod lightly, turning away.

“I don’t think you’re answering me for real!”

“I answered you,” said Finrod, his back to Turgon as he busied himself with something at his desk. “By all means, ask out Amarië. You both deserve happiness, and I care about you both. It would be selfish and irrational for me to deprive you of something potentially good simply because of some vague discomfort of mine.”

“So you do have some discomfort.”

“Of course not.” Finrod still wasn’t looking at him, and was talking in the bright, beautifully enunciated way he did when he was shielding his true intent. “Nothing worth holding you back.”

“Well. If you’re sure.” Turgon rocked back and forth on his toes. He wasn’t sure at all, but he was also feeling impatient with Finrod’s refusal to give an honest or straightforward answer. _I’m not going to let you passively guilt me into not doing this and then have plausible deniability because you never actually said the word ‘No’._

“Mmm.”

Turgon waited, but Finrod didn’t turn around. He gave up. “Great, then,” he said with equal cheer. “I’m going to ask her out. Wish me luck!”

“Good luck,” murmured Finrod, not looking up, and Turgon turned on his heel and left, not sure if he was elated or uneasy.

 

* * *

 

Mablung stood on the front steps of the house on the corner of Wadfrea, listening to the sound of the doorbell echoing inside, and had a sudden urge to run away before anyone came to the door, like a kid pulling a prank.

“But I forgot my bag of flaming dogshit,” he muttered to himself, and reflexively brought his hand up to smooth down his cowlick again.

The door opened, and Oromë looked down at him, surprised. “Mablung?”

“Hey, C-coach,” Mablung croaked, and then cleared his throat.

“Should I have been expecting you?”

“No.” Mablung felt sheepish. “I would have called but, uh, I hate phones. And I would have emailed, but the only address I have for you is your beleriand.edu one, and it bounced me.”

“Yes, that one no longer works,” said Oromë softly. “I can give you a reliable one, though.”

“Yeah, that’d be great. So I’m sorry I just, like, showed up, I didn’t really know what else to do, and…” Mablung trailed off, trying not to be obvious in the way he was looking nervously over Oromë’s shoulder. “I can make it quick.”

Oromë watched him for a moment, and then stood aside. “Come on in. Celegorm’s not here,” he said, in mild answer to Mablung’s darting gaze. “So we can call the awkwardness halved, at least.”

 _If he’s inviting you in_ , Mablung thought, trailing Oromë into the house, _that probably means he doesn’t know all the shit you said to Celegorm._ And despite himself, a feeling of shame welled up from somewhere he had forgotten about.

They sat at the table, opposite each other, and Mablung cracked his knuckles nervously. “Um. So how’s it been going?”

Oromë smiled. “You mean on my ‘sabbatical’?”

“Right. Uhh.” Mablung didn’t know where to put his eyes. He felt so awkward he wanted to snake out of his skin and run away. “Sorry, about…the…thing…”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Oromë. “It’s good to see you, though unexpected, I’ll admit. To what do I owe the pleasure?” He sounded sincere in his curiosity.

“I’m applying for a job,” said Mablung, in a rush. “I’ve been sort of unsuccessful in pinning a one down this past year, but I’ve got some good leads now, and I just need references. I’ve only worked for two people, and they’re both writing me letters, but I thought…they say you can use a teacher, or…or a coach, someone who can speak for your character, and leadership skills, or whatever, and, well, you’ve known me five years, and made me captain and all, and I figured, I figured I should have a letter from you? I mean, if you’re up for it. And actually I didn’t figure it. Beleg told me I’d be an idiot not to. And he’s probably right. He usually is.”

“Oh.” Oromë looked surprised, but touched. “Are you certain you want a letter from me?”

“Yeah?” Mablung shuffled his feet and looked up. “Why, do you not want to?”

“No, no. I’d be delighted to write you a reference, and I would mean every word. I just want to make sure it would actually serve you well. Given the...sabbatical and all that.”

“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.” Mablung scratched his head. “I – I’d still like it, honestly.”

“You can always decide whether or not to use it, of course, but I’d be happy to write something for you to keep on file for the future,” said Oromë. “I’ve done that in the past – written a general character reference that can be used for various purposes. Would that work for you?”

“Yeah! Yeah, that would be perfect.” Mablung gripped his hands together and tried not to let his excitement and relief show. “I really appreciate it, Coach.”

“When do you need it by?” Oromë had pulled out a notebook and was jotting something down in it.

“Um, next week? Sorry,” said Mablung, “I know that’s quick turn around. I shoulda come sooner but I…procrastinated.”

“No problem.” Oromë wrote something down.

“Thanks, Coach.”

“You’re a year out of school now, Mablung, and I am off the school’s payroll.” Oromë smiled, a little sadly. “I’m no longer your – or anyone’s – coach. Call me Oromë.”

“Thanks,” said Mablung again, and smiled back, less tentative now. “But I think I’ll stick with ‘Coach’, if you don’t mind. That’s who you’re always going to be in my head, no matter what else changes.”

He was halfway out the door when he paused and looked back. “Hey, Coach?”

“Yes?”

“You haven’t heard anything from that Turin kid, have you?”

Oromë looked suddenly grave. “No, I haven’t. All I know is what I saw in the papers. Why, have you?”

“No,” said Mablung, already on his way out. “Just asking for a friend.”

 

* * *

 

 

 **_Aredhel_ ** _is online_

 **Aredhel** : I’m here!!!!

 

 **_Elenwë_ ** _is away_

 

 **Aredhel** : :((( Baaaaabe

 **Aredhel** : It’s five afterrrrr

 **Aredhel** : I brushed my hair and everything

 **Aredhel** : I look so cute

 

 **_Elenwë_ ** _is online_

 

 **Elenwë** : Hey!

 **Elenwë** : Cute, huh?

 **Elenwë** : Prove it

 

 **_Aredhel_ ** _is calling_

 

“Hello!”

“El El El.”

“Hi, Ireth. Stop moving so much, I’m trying to see how cute you are and you’re super blurry.”

“I’m excited. I move when I’m excited.”

“Yes, but my wireless connection is slow already, and you’re moving beyond the ability of my weak pixels.”

“Okay, don’t pout, I’m holding very still now.”

“Yes, perfect.”

“Well?”

“Aww, _baby_.”

“Yeahhh?”

“You are so cute. Um, well, still blurry, honestly, but so cute. Not that this is a surprise.”

“You are _pretty_.”

“Oh yeah?”

“ _Yeah_. Why are you laughing?”

“This is such a substantive conversation.”

“Look, if we can’t start our vidchats with lengthy commentary about how hot we find each other, then what’s the point?”

“You are so smart and so right, querida.”

“I know, aren’t I? But I can talk about other, less important things too. How was work today? Are you still feeling like you’re getting along well with the rest of the project team and all that? Have they invited you to lunch with them again?”

“Yes, I think so, and YES, two lunches in a row! I still feel _so_ behind though, they know so much more than I do…”

“You’re just the intern! No one expects you to know as much as the project leaders.”

“I guess. But I still feel like four years of college only prepared me for, like, the technical parts of this. I can work the equations! But then we go out to the site and the measurements keep changing and don’t match the schematic at all, and it’s just, ahhhh, how do you deal with this? And they don’t get fazed, it’s like they _expect_ everything to go to shit.”

“That’s what being an intern is about. Learning how to deal with stuff going to shit, from the pros.”

“I guess so.”

“By the end of the summer you are going to be a cool cucumber about stuff going to shit.”

“Hah. Anyway, how was work today?”

“You see this bottle of wine I’m drinking?”

“Aw, Ireth...”

“No, it’s not so bad. Just boring, and I’m around my mom all the time. She’s great, and isn’t too micro-manage-y, which is good, but still…more exposure than I maybe need.”

“I can see that. How’s living in the house? Are the boys horrible? Are they stinky?”

“They don’t smell as nice as you do, that’s for sure. I keep sneaking, like, lavender body wash into the shower to see if they start using it, but they don’t. Tyelko told me my Doctor Brauner’s made his ballsack really sting though, so I’m keeping that in my room when I’m not using it, because shit I don’t want to know, right? But actually, I was expecting way worse.”

“Is it just the three of you?”

“No, didn’t I tell you? Makalaurë is back, even though he spends some nights at Findekáno and Maitimo’s. And Moryo is in and out, I don’t know. Some nights he’s here, some nights he isn’t. He and Curvo still don’t talk much.”

“Mmm, understandable…”

“But no, it’s fun. I like being in a house with _people_ , even though Lómion is at risk of being eaten by Curvo at any moment. Tyelko thinks it’s funny.”

“Aw, Lómion! Don't let him get eaten, I think he'd give Curvo horrible indigestion anyway. And I'm jealous of your catlife, I miss my baby.”

“I’ve been checking in on her for you! Turno _might_ be making her fat.”

“Every cat that comes into his house is going to go spherical, I swear. Make sure she doesn’t get so fat her knees crack when she jumps on things, like Ulmo Jr’s do.”

“I’ll try.”

“Hmmm.”

“Hmmm?”

“I’m just thinking…”

“About what?”

“If my pixels are fast enough.”

“Fast enough for what?”

“For the level of definition we need. I got a new bra. Want to see?”

“Uhh, the answer to that is HELL YES. Always hell yes. You should know this. Hang on, I’m going to pull the curtains.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was the wee hours of the night, but Aredhel had not yet managed to fall asleep. Restless, she wandered down to the kitchen for a glass of water. She had been Skyping with Elenwë until past midnight, and now her brain wouldn’t let her calm down enough to sleep, bottle of wine or no. Still preoccupied thinking about Elenwë and riding on the mixture of elation and longing that followed their conversations, Aredhel was going through the motions automatically and pulled up short when she saw she wasn’t alone.

“Curvo?”

Curufin turned away from the light over the stove as she clicked it on, but not before she saw that his face was wan and his eyes slightly red.

“Uh. Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” said Curufin brusquely. “Fine.”

Aredhel hesitated. She poured herself some water and half turned to leave the kitchen before looking back. “Um. Should I get Tyelko–?”

Curufin let out a rough laugh. “No. God, no. He would hardly understand.”

Aredhel wavered in the doorway. “Is this. Um. Is this about your dad?”

“No.”

Aredhel’s bed was calling out to her from upstairs, but Curufin was standing there with his bony shoulders and knobbly elbows and his face turned away, and her feet stayed rooted to the floor. “Is this…Is this about you and Findaráto?”

Curufin didn’t answer.

“Did you two fight?”

“No.” Curufin dragged a hand over his eyes and straightened his shoulders. “No, of course not.”

“But it is about him.”

“Yes.” The word was so soft that Aredhel almost couldn’t hear it.

She thought for a moment. Her bed was waiting for her, the fan would be humming in the window, and she had a whole evening full of pleasant Elenwë things to turn over in her mind. But…

“I’m going to go sit down in the living room, I think. More comfortable.” Without turning on the lights, she padded into the living room and sat on the couch, legs tucked up under her, water glass in hand. A minute later, she heard quiet footsteps, and saw Curufin’s slim silhouette settle at the opposite end of the couch.

She took a sip of her water. “Me and Tyelko used to have sleepovers when we were younger.”

Curufin didn’t answer.

“We’d talk about dumb shit all night, watch some scary movie, throw stuff at each other, make jokes, fuck around, you know, stupid stuff. But then we’d turn out the lights to go to sleep.” She hesitated. “And that’s when we’d actually talk for real.”

Silence from the other end of the couch.

“It’s easier to say some things when you can’t see the other person’s face, sometimes. And when they can’t see yours.” She took another drink from her glass and looked out the living room window where the moon was turning the yard silver.

She waited.

After what seemed like an hour –

“He’s done so much more than I have.”

Aredhel knew at once that Curufin wasn’t talking about going to grad school or owning a car. She knew whom he was talking about, as well. “Well hey, Findaráto’s a decent bit older than you.”

“It doesn’t matter. When he was my age – once I’m his age – it will all come out to the same thing. He’s done so much more. He will have always done more. And he will always want so much more.” There came such a long pause that Aredhel wasn’t sure if Curufin was going to say anything more.

But he did.

“I can’t do it,” said Curufin softly. “I can’t do what he wants, I can’t… I don’t want what he wants, and I don’t understand how to…fix it.”

Aredhel took a breath. “You mean physically? Sexually.”

Curufin gave a stiff nod.

“Does he pressure you?”

“No! No. He’s _kind_.” Curufin’s fingers curled into fists. “I hate people being kind to me. It’s so patronizing. But what else can he do, when I’m so…not normal?”

Aredhel blew her breath back out. “Normal’s relative when it comes to sex.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard.”

“Seriously. I’m not exactly ‘normal’ either.”

He snorted. “Oh, from what I remember, you and my brother were _very_ normal in your vigor with each other.”

“Hunh, yeah. If 'normal' is being able to go to town on your best friend every once in a while, then sure, in certain instances, with him, I’m ‘normal’. But that’s the thing – I’m all over the place.” Aredhel concentrated on the dark room. Maybe, if she pretended she was just saying it to the empty night… _it’s easier to say certain things when you can’t see their face._ “I’m with someone I love more than anything now, right? And sometimes I can’t even stand to have her touch me. It’s not fair, I love her, she's perfect and wonderful and everything I could ask for, but sometimes when she touches me I just want to run. I want to not feel that way, more than anything. But I have no control of it, it just _happens._ And then other times I want her more than anything, want her like _crazy_ , feel almost 'normal' about it. Then sometimes I can touch her, but I can't have her touch me. Other times she can touch me, but I can’t touch her. And sometimes the thought of anything, at all, makes me…sick, and scared, and all fucked up." She closed her eyes, trying not to relive a thousand different instances of her wanting to twist herself into being _better_ at this. "What I’m saying is - I don’t think I’m 'not normal' in the same way you are, but I can tell you, Curvo, that I’m _not_. I don’t actually think anyone is.”

“You’re still more normal than me.”

She sighed. “Is it really quantifiable?”

“Why not? You have more of ‘normal’ than I do, you are _closer_ to it than I am.”

Aredhel wasn’t sure what to say to this. “Amarië wasn’t…wasn’t that different from you,” she said at last, awkwardly. “She wasn’t really big on sex, or interested in it at all, for a while. Finrod took it slow with her. He didn’t mind.”

Curufin pulled in an angry breath, and Aredhel worried for a moment that she’d ruined everything with her comparison. But then Curufin laughed, bitterly. “And he left her for what he could get with my brother.”

“But he’s with _you_ now. He wanted to be with you. You two,” Aredhel hesitated. “You two did a bit together didn’t you, before anything was official? He knew that you weren’t–”

“We were doing more…physical things, when we were sneaking around. I thought, maybe, if I did it, if I tried some things, a switch would get _flipped_ in me, and I’d start wanting it.” Curufin looked at the ground. “But it didn’t. It just made me more sure I don’t want it.”

“I’m sure if you tell him that, he’ll understand. He’ll accommodate you, he – ”

“I don’t want him to accommodate me!” Curufin burst out. “I don’t want him to _tolerate_ me, I don’t want to be a charity case – Look, I know what he wants, and I can’t give it to him! I know what he wants, because I _heard_ it, every weekend night this winter, every afternoon they both had free. I know how he likes it, I know what he asked my brother to do, I _heard_ it, I heard him, them, I know what he wants and what he likes and _I can’t give it to him_ , and he’s just going to leave me too!”

Curufin had said all this in a passionate whisper, his eyes blazing and his features carved sharp in the moonlight, and Aredhel balked at the desperation in those lines.

“I should just end it,” said Curufin harshly. “Break it off. Dump him before he can dump me – or worse, cheat on me.”

“He won’t,” Aredhel tried to say it with conviction. “He won’t leave you. I mean, not just for that. Ahh, that came out wrong. I can’t…I can’t tell much about you, because you’re really good at not letting it show, but I know you like him. I know you care about him. And I know he really wants to be with you. You’re important to him, Curvo, and just because he was one way with one of his partners doesn’t mean he can’t be another with you. I’m sure there are ways for you to meet halfway, or figure things out, you just have to talk about it, and see what makes sense. That’s what me and Elenwë did.”

Curufin had gone back to tight silence.

“I _really_ didn’t want to talk about it, but we had to, it wasn’t fair to let her think she was doing something wrong or that it was somehow a burden for me to be with her. And dude, it was crazy how much better it was once we’d talked. We could work things out. We could set up rules, and, like, strategies for when I was in a certain place…” Aredhel felt her cheeks blazing and was glad for the darkness. She hadn’t even spoken this frankly to Celegorm about her love life. Maybe the wine was destroying her usual boundaries. “I didn’t know you could _do_ stuff like that. Just establish guidelines, and talk about anything that was confusing or scary? Stop anytime and re-set, try something different, even take back something you’d said before…” She had forgotten, for so long, that _I changed my mind_ was a valid thing to say in bed. It had taken her a long time to remember she was allowed to. “But we needed to talk.”

_It’s what you do, when you love someone._

“Findaráto would want to hear this from you, so he can listen and understand better and tell you what he thinks himself. Augh, I’m so bad at this.” Aredhel was running out of steam. She set her empty water glass on the table and shook herself. This was important. “You’re not doomed because you have different sexual backgrounds, or histories, or needs. You can make it work, it is possible. I can’t tell you how, or that for sure it’ll all be okay, but I can tell you that I bet Finrod would say pretty much what I’m saying, and it would be much more comforting coming from him. Seeing as, you know, you and I aren’t dating.”

Curufin moved for the first time in a long while, straightening his back and looping his arms around his knees. “It would hardly be out of the question,” he said dryly, sounding more like himself. “I do appear to have a taste for my brothers’ sloppy seconds.” His sarcasm was familiar, but there was no bite to it and Aredhel smiled.

“Oooh, snap, solid burn. Except that you mostly burned yourself.”

“It’s late.” Curufin glanced across the room at the moonlight slanting across the floor. “I can’t believe I’m even talking about this with you, of all people.”

“Well, it’s late,” said Aredhel, with equal wry irony.

“Perhaps I’m ill.”

“That must be it.”

They sat in companionable silence for a while before there were footsteps in the upstairs hall, and then on the stairs, and they both looked up. Celegorm appeared in the doorway, bare-chested, his hair a wild mess around his head. He blinked at them both blearily. “What the fuck? What’s goin’ on? Did someone die? Has the president been shot?”

“Good lord,” said Curufin. “No.”

“There’s gotta been some global catastrophe to have you two sitting together,” said Celegorm yawning, and he shuffled over to flop on the couch between them.

“We were just talking,” said Aredhel, wedging her chilly toes under Celegorm’s bottom.

“About what?”

“Sports,” said Curufin, just as Aredhel said, “Books.”

“Riiight.” Celegorm looked between them. “Should I be worried?”

“I don’t think so,” said Aredhel, and she winked at Curufin over Celegorm’s head. “I think everyone’s going to be just fine. Not normal, maybe…but fine.”

“Something like that,” said Curufin, and gave her a short, tight nod, and the faintest of smiles.

 

 


	60. Rob from the rich and blow down the door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five twosomes have conversations about Life and Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Warnings for discussion of romantic orientation, employment woes, and generalized twenty-something angst.

Maglor sighed melancholically and linked his arm through Caranthir’s. “I can’t believe I’m walking you to your _job._ ”

“Why not? You think I’d never be employable? Thanks a lot.”

“No, because you are my tiny baby brother.” Maglor looked up at Caranthir, who was close to half a foot taller than him. “Not even out of school and already a big shot accountant, ah, what a world.”

“I’m doing the books twice a week for Telchar,” growled Caranthir, his ears going red. “Stop acting like this is a big deal.”

“Stop acting like you don’t enjoy me making a big deal over it. Also, you’re employed and I’m not, which is unfair, frankly.”

“Cuiviénen wouldn’t give you your job back?”

“They filled the position.” Maglor sighed. “So I guess I’ll apply at other coffee shops around town, it's not like I don't have the experience…”

Caranthir wrinkled his nose. “Do you need to stick with being a barista, though? Why not do more shit with your music? Why not capitalize on your success? You’re going to be a credited artist on a new release album, you should market yourself on that.”

“Mmm,” said Maglor noncommittally. “Might not be credited.”

Caranthir stopped short, and Maglor made a pained noise as his arm was jerked back. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I told you me and Dai didn’t leave things on good terms…”

“Who the fuck cares? This isn’t about friendship and hugs, this is about _business_. You did work, you deserve credit for that work, you deserve _compensation_ for that work.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Like hell. Look, let me at ‘im, please? Or at his reps, I don’t care. We could even set some of dad’s lawyers on them, oh please Káno, it’ll be so perfect, they won’t know what hit ‘em…”

“I don’t want to talk about this any more,” said Maglor firmly, and dragged Caranthir along. “Aren’t you going to be late for work?”

“Telchar doesn’t really care when I show up as long as I get her the deductions she wants. And you _never_ want to talk about this, let me do something about it, for god’s sake.”

“I don’t want it talk about it anymore. What’s it like in the distillery?”

“You are so conflict avoidant it’s ridiculous.”

“Mmhm, unlike you.”

“I’m not conflict avoidant. I’ve actually been told, repeatedly, that I should try and avoid conflicts more, since I tend to end up getting five million butthurt twits mad at me every time I try and bring up a reasonable point in class.”

“Sure, direct confrontation, that’s you. Except when it comes to, say, Curvo.”

Caranthir shoved his hands in his pockets. “You want me to avoid him, trust me. Otherwise it’ll end with me running him through the dishwasher on heavy rinse.”

“See? Exactly. Engaging with conflict in this family generally means hurled plates, bodily harm, feuds, and chilly silences; I’m not interested. Let’s move on, _please_.”                                                                                                    

“I’m not forgetting that Daeron owes you,” muttered Caranthir. “But fine, point taken, changing the subject for now, you wuss.”

“How is it working for Blue Hills?”

“It’s good.” Caranthir shrugged. “I knew Az a bit because of Mae, but Telchar is _awesome_ , totally rad chick. She takes shit from no one, and doesn’t care about the ‘customer is always right’ b.s., or get put out that I don’t smile and stuff. She’s like, yo, he fits right in, he doesn’t try to make nice, and that’s a fucking relief, right? And the place is cool, there’s always free beer and those fuckers work round the clock, it’s crazy. I mean new business, sure, but they are the hardest working motherfuckers I’ve ever met.”

“You should hear the stories I’ve heard about their Uncle Durin...”

“Grandad Durin.”

“And Great-Grandfather Durin, I think it’s a popular family name?”

“Something like that. Unless there’s one dude who occupies multiple generations, I dunno. As I said, they’re hard-working, that family. And they appreciate good alcohol and I can appreciate _that_.”

“Says the kid who consistently buys Keystone Light for our parties.”

“It’s cheapest! And none of us are flush. Literally everyone living in our house right now is 50-100% unemployed.”

“Okay, fair.”

They had pulled up on Nogrod Ave and the dragon-embossed sign that proclaimed this the Blue Hills Brewery and Distillery. Caranthir smiled crookedly at Maglor and slipped his arm free. “Time for me to clock in, you freeloader.”

“Buy groceries on your way home,” said Maglor, grinning back. “I would, but I’m broke.”

“Richest family in town, and look at us.” Caranthir waved slightly and turned away. “Good luck with pounding the pavement, dork.”

“Thanks for the encouragement, moneybags.” Maglor watched Caranthir disappear through the front door of Blue Hills, and then turned to make his way up the block to peruse what other coffee shops might be hiring. But the first thing he saw when he turned around was not a ‘HELP WANTED’ sign, but a familiar figure with a black braid, her bangs in her eyes and a flowery scarf tied around her head, reading a book on a bench.

 

-

 

Maglor had considered, many times, what it would be like when he first saw Ríanellë, and after all his long ruminations on the moment, his reaction surprised him. His instinct would have been to duck his head and pretend he hadn’t seen her, or to actively hide from her, a tactic he’d confessed considering to Maedhros, or, if all else failed and he couldn’t avoid an encounter, to make falsely cheery small talk and pretend nothing had changed.

What he had not planned on doing was stomping over to her and saying, loudly, “You never told me you _DJ-ed_.”

Ríanellë looked up from her book. “You never told me you tap-danced!”

“What?” Maglor was nonplussed, and not prepared for being derailed this immediately. “I. What? I don’t tap-dance.”

“Hey, I don’t know, I thought this was a new greeting trend.” Ríanellë closed her book. “An easy way to get musical confessions out of your acquaintances? So now we know I DJ, and you _don’t_ tap-dance, which I’ll admit disappoints me a little. You’ve got the legs for it.”

“I, what? That isn’t.” Maglor felt nettled. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Me? You’re the one who said hi to me after we haven’t seen each other in weeks by shouting at me about my weekend job.”

“Yes,” said Maglor furiously, seizing onto this in relief. “Exactly. Your ‘weekend job’. That I don’t know about, somehow!”

“You…never asked?”

“Just because I don’t ask, that’s no reason to hide it! Don’t you think I’d want to know? There were loads of times that bit of information could have come up. Loads of times it might have been relevant, given our interactions! Now that I think of it, there were times you said you couldn’t do something on a weekend, and you totally neglected to mention why! Why was that? Why feel the need to conceal? Why not come out straight and say, ‘I can’t, _I’ll be DJ-ing_ ’?”

“Because I didn’t think you would care much if you knew my supplementary income comes from dubstep remixes in a sweaty third tier club?” suggested Ríanellë. “Maglor, honestly, are you on something right now?”

“And instead it was omissions, and skirting around the truth,” Maglor went on, knowing he sounded absurd but entirely unable to stop himself. “Those times you said you had a family thing, or had a lesson to prep for – were any of those true? Or were they just covers for what you were actually doing?”

“I get the sense,” said Ríanellë carefully, “that this is not actually about me DJ-ing.” She reached out for Maglor’s hand and gently tugged him down on the bench next to her. “Why don’t you calm down and tell me,” and her voice was very serious all of a sudden, “why you feel so entitled to know everything about what I do with my weekends?”

Maglor sat down with a thump, but once they were seated side by side, a silence fell.

“So,” said Ríanellë, when it became clear that Maglor wasn't going to speak first. “How’d you find out about my DJ gig?”

“Glorfindel.”

“Mmm.” Ríanellë nodded. “I ran into him the other day and got to see him look like an excited begonia when I told him Ecthelion would be home on leave in the next two weeks.”

Maglor smiled despite himself. “That sounds about right. Wait, Ecthelion’s coming home? Do you think he’d be able to – ”

“He’s got ten days of leave, Mags, I don’t think he’ll be spending any of it with you. No offense.”

“Right. None taken.”

They sat quietly a while longer until Maglor finally located his nerve.

“Daeron asked you out.”

“Yes.”

“You told him you didn’t do romantic relationships.”

“I did.”

“Is that true? Not just a – a – ”

“Brush off? No, I was telling the truth. I mean, I probably would have turned him down either way, but it’s true.”

“You don’t do romantic relationships.”

“I don’t.”

“Because of a political stance, or a feminist thing, or what?”

“Because I don’t experience romantic attraction,” said Ríanellë bluntly.

“Oh.” Maglor digested this, trying not to let his confusion show. “Why didn’t you tell _me_ that?”

“I…” Ríanellë sighed, and slumped a little lower on the bench. “I can’t always bring myself to get into it. I have spent so much time in the past trying to explain, or justify, or convince someone that no, this really is a thing – not just a ‘political stance’ or ‘feminist thing’, and I end up embarrassed and awkward and frustrated and defensive, and…I found it was easier to say something else. Like that I just got out of a relationship and need time to myself. Or that I only date men ten years older than me. Or,” she smiled faintly, “that I don’t date musicians.”

“So I never had a chance,” said Maglor quietly.

Ríanellë blew out her breath. “Isn’t it better to know that it doesn’t have anything to do with you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Not really.” Maglor stared at the ground. “I think I’m a little confused that you told Dai the real reason and not me.”

“Yeah, that happens sometimes.” Ríanellë swiped her bangs out of her eyes. “Sometimes I take myself by surprise and actually say it straight out, so to speak. I think I knew that Daeron would just immediately cross me off the list of girls he could date, and not ask many follow up questions. I like Dai, but he’s not the most curious of people, and is pretty self-involved, and he doesn’t ask about other people much. Honestly that felt pretty ideal, having someone who would stop caring once it became clear it wasn’t about him. He’s kind of easy like that.”

Maglor smiled crookedly. “That’s Dai.”

“I like you a lot, Maglor. You’re my friend, and I think you’re amazing, and I care about you tons, and I think you’re sexy and I’ve had a lot of fun with you. But I’m not interested in a romantic relationship - That’s not going to be something that happens between us. And if…if it’s too hard to be my friend and know that, I understand.” Her voice went very quiet at the end, but she seemed sincere.

“No,” said Maglor. “I – no, of course I want to be your friend. You’re awesome, and talented, and I don’t want to just _lose_ you, right? It makes me a little sad, is all, to think…” He trailed off, and Ríanellë moved slightly away from him on the bench.

“If we’re going to be friends, Mags,” she said, very seriously, “I can’t do the ‘but maybe one day she’ll come around’ thing. I’ve done that before, and it _sucks_ , and it’s not fair to me, or to you, and leaves me feeling guilty and pressured and shitty, and I promised myself I wouldn’t let that happen again.”

“That…makes sense.”

There was another long silence, and then Maglor looked over at her. “I’m sorry I was kind of a tool about all this. I think I might not handle rejection well. And some of this is kind of new to me.”

“What, rejection?”

“No, that I’m getting pretty familiar with. The whole…” He waved a hand helplessly. “No-romantic thing?”

“Aromantic.”

“Okay. Aromantic. Yeah.”

“I live to educate,” said Ríanellë, and dropped her head back on the bench.

Maglor tipped his head back next to hers. “While we’re confessing things…”

“Yes?”

“Daeron and I hooked up in the middle of a fight and also I don’t think we’re friends anymore.”

“And you say _I_ keep important things from you?” Ríanellë threw her book at Maglor’s head. “Next time you stomp up to me, accuse me of things _after_ you yell ‘I blew Dai’!”

“It was the other way around actually.”

“TELL ME EVERYTHING.” Ríanellë was grinning as she sat up and tucked a loose strand of hair back under her scarf, and Maglor could tell she was relieved to have the topic shift away from her. “Oh, _Mags._ ”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Finrod was poring over his work, chewing the end of his pencil and mumbling, “Free will essays on the…24th… Quiz on the fifth…” when all of a sudden he shivered and sat bolt upright. All the hairs stood up on the back of his neck, and he had the distinct sensation he was being watched.

Very carefully, he laid down his pencil and got up. He pushed in his desk chair and crossed to the door. He opened it, and drew up sharply as he came nose to nose with the person standing on the other side of it.

“Hello, Nerwen,” he said cheerfully, after a moment. “Care to come in?”

He closed the door behind her and sat down again at his desk, waiting patiently as Galadriel prowled the room curiously, peering at everything but not touching anything, her hands linked behind her back. Once she had examined every book on his shelves and the folded clothes in the cubbies against the walls, she let out a long sigh and, very suddenly but elegantly, dropped to the ground and curled up on her side.

“Uh oh,” said Finrod. “You’re snailing.”

“I like what you’ve done with your room,” said Galadriel, addressing the carpet and picking at a thread with long fingers.

“Thank you.”

“That bedspread from Bubbe looks good in here.”

“I know.”

“Your plant needs watering though.”

“Shoot. Yes. I meant to get that earlier.” Finrod scanned his desk, eyes alighting on the little pot of water he’d been using for his watercolor brushes. “Do you think it will mind paintwater?”

Galadriel shrugged, still on the floor.

“I’ll get the watering can in a moment.” Finrod leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and looked down at his sister. “What’s up? I know you only snail when something’s bothering you.”

Galadriel briefly uncurled and recurled, scooting slightly across the floor.

“Even if it’s a moving snail. Do you want to talk?”

Galadriel made a small whispery sound, and Finrod slid off his chair to join her on the floor. He laid his head next to hers, his body stretched out in the opposite direction as Galadriel straightened her own legs and laid flat. Head to head, the two of them neatly bisected Finrod’s room.

They lay quietly, ear to ear for a while, and then Finrod said, “Was dad upset that you’re not planning on grad school?”

“Dad is never upset.” Galadriel stared at the ceiling. “He goes soft and quietly disappointed and takes your hand and looks you in the eye with deep sympathy and asks if everything’s all right, if something changed, and what your feelings are on everything from your love life to your career.” She closed her eyes. “I may be ungrateful for resenting a thoughtful father, but sometimes I’d rather he just get openly upset. I know he is.”

“Suppressing true feelings?” Finrod smiled ruefully. “Goodness, good thing that sort of behavior isn’t inheritable.”

“Hah. Yes.”

Finrod rolled over on his side, and so did Galadriel. They both tucked their knees in and lay there like commas, quietly thinking.

“You don’t need to jump into anything, you know,” said Finrod. “You’ve been working hard for 15 years – you graduated valedictorian a year early, for god’s sake.”

“Which is why I shouldn’t waste my _potential_.”

“Or why you deserve a break.”

“And lose my momentum?”

“More like keep yourself from burning out.”

“The point is moot, anyway. I have no idea what I want to do. None. Can you believe that, Ingo?”

“It is shocking; you know everything, always.”

“Stop teasing.”

“Only small teasing. You’ve done everything that’s expected of you, all your life, and exceeded expectations, excelled on every front. It’s tiring to keep that up, I know.”

“You would.”

“Yes,” Finrod said simply. “And look where I am.”

“Halfway through a doctorate…”

“And my social and romantic life a total disaster, because I decided to deal with my fear and exhaustion and need to shatter expectation by hurting people I loved.”

“Ingoldo’s vacation from perfection.”

“It would make a halfway decent movie,” said Finrod wryly. “If an unedifying one. On the whole, I’d advise doing what you can to avoid burn out before you lose control totally and turn to catastrophe as a coping mechanism. You were right, you know, when you said those things to me last fall.”

“I was cruel to you.”

“But not wrong.” Finrod reached out and tugged Galadriel’s braid, very lightly. “It’s okay not to know everything. It’s okay not to do everything. It’s okay to wait and see and maybe spend a year just…shitting around some.”

“ ‘Shitting around’? You’ve been spending too much time with Fëanorions.”

“Quite possibly. Do you object to the language or the concept?”

“Neither, actually.” Galadriel chewed her lip. “It’s just a new mindset to wrap my head around. And…” She swallowed, looking very young for a moment. “It scares me, a little. I’m not used to feeling directionless. I’m not used to disappointing dad.”

“I think I can say with total certainty that you could _never_  truly disappoint dad.” Finrod pushed himself upright and held out a hand for Galadriel. “But I think you could maybe use a bit of fresh air. Maybe a bit of fresh, salt air… Do mom and dad still keep _Le Cygne_ in the same place?”

“It’s at Grandfather’s mooring down east.”

“Then I think maybe a brief ‘vacation from perfection’ is needed for us both. Grandmother and Grandfather will be glad to see us, don’t you think?”  

 

* * *

 

 

Fingon was in the kitchen trying to quickly drink coffee that was too hot to drink without burning his mouth, and spreading cream cheese on a bagel. He had just burnt his tongue again, stuck his cream cheese knife into his coffee cup, and said “DAMN” loudly, when Maedhros wandered in, looking ruffled and distressed.

“Help.”

“Help?” Fingon stuck out his burned tongue and tried to look at it with crossed eyes. “Sweet honey muffin, I think I can barely help myself. What’s up?”

“I can’t tie my tie,” said Maedhros faintly. “I don’t know if I should be wearing a tie, even, and I think these pants are too tight.”

Fingon set his breakfast down on the island and crossed the room to Maedhros, whose tie was rumpled around his neck and whose hands were hanging helplessly at his sides. “C’mere, let me take a look.”

“I’m freaking out,” said Maedhros in a monotone of dire calm, as Fingon straightened his tie and started to work on the knot. “Why am I freaking out? It’s not even the first day of classes, just orientation for the program, but…”

“It’s okay to freak out,” said Fingon soothingly. “But once you’re there, it’ll feel a lot less daunting. You’ll be meeting your mentor, right? And learning about the classroom you’ll be in?”

“Yes.”

“It’s going to be great.” Fingon finished with the knot and tugged the tie even, then tucked a kiss against Maedhros’ neck just above the collar. “You’re freaking out because you haven’t been on track for something you’re actually interested in since graduating, basically, so now the stakes feel higher, and new stuff is scary. Just remember that you’re brilliant, you’re hard-working, and you get to come home to me, where I will rip that tie off you and make those tight pants even tighter.” He grinned. “Want some coffee with cream cheese?”

“So you _do_ think these pants are tight.”

“You might have gained an ounce or two since you were twenty three, but I like a man with more junk in the trunk. Just don’t bend over suddenly. Not until this evening, anyway.” As he spoke, he quickly undid and redid a button on Maedhros’ cuff that had been mis-buttoned, and settled Maedhros’ glasses even on his nose.

Maedhros laid his hands to Fingon’s hips and pulled him close for a grateful kiss. “What would I do without you?”

“Get laid a lot less.”

“Absolutely true.”

“Though I dunno, I suppose Azaghâl might help you out, there.”

“I will forever regret telling you that story.”

“It’s kind of hot!”

Maedhros kissed Fingon again and let him go. “Whatever you say. Can I borrow some of your ability to never be afraid of anything in addition to borrowing your blue tie?”

Fingon snorted and stepped away. “Mae, the reason I don’t get afraid about work shit is because I haven’t started a new job in four years. This is literally the only job I’ve ever had. And _that_ job is working for my dad. It’s easy not to get scared when you don’t take risks.”

“Are you kidding?” Maedhros caught Fingon’s sleeve and pulled him back. “You think being an executive at a company like this one when you’re barely 26 isn’t taking _risks_?”

Fingon shrugged. “It’s nepotism.”

“But you’re _good_ at it.”

“So were you.” Fingon looked at Maedhros seriously, and then winked, shaking off the moment and heading back into the kitchen. “Anyway, I get scared of new things plenty! I got scared about asking you to live with me. And then I got scared that you’d leave me when you found out how I do the dishes.”

“Well, sponges are foul, bacteria-breeding filth-grounds.”

“And washcloths aren’t?”

“They’re easier to clea – We’re not having this argument again.”

“No, because this time I _will_ leave you for the scrubbie.”

“Not if I leave you first.” Maedhros leaned his elbows on the counter and watched Fingon pour his coffee down the sink. “Hey. Are you unhappy?”

“Whatph?” Fingon stared at him from above the bagel he’d just bitten into. He swallowed and raised his eyebrows. “You think I’m not happy with you?”

“No, not with me, but…”

“I’m unhappy that this bagel is stale.”

“I meant more generally – ”

“I’m unhappy that you look better in that tie than I do.”

“That’s not true. With your eyes – But what I’m _saying_ – ”

“I’m unhappy I’m going to be late for work because my boyfriend is being a weirdo.”

“That. Work.” Maedhros gestured. “Are you unhappy with your job? I can’t remember the last time you talked about it as anything but a chore, and you don’t even think you’re there for a reason other than favoritism, which is crazy because you are _good at this_. Jokes aside, Finno…Are you happy at Finwë Corp?”

“Everyone bitches about their job.” Fingon rolled his eyes. “It’d be pretty reckless for me to quit just because sometimes I whine about it, not when other people can’t get a job half as good and I can make good money and help my family and all that. My dad needs the help.”

“I never really pegged you as someone who put duty above happiness…”

“Oh, really?” Fingon’s eyes narrowed. “You think you’ve got a monopoly on the martyr-to-duty thing? Think I’m a less dutiful son than, say, Fëanáro’s passel of totally obedient brats?”

“No!” Maedhros waved his hands. “No, that’s not what I meant! I just… If you’re unhappy, you shouldn’t stay in this job just because you think you should. That’s the kind of thing I do, and I end up miserable, and then you convince me I should actually take a risk and try something else, and I end up a lot happier…”

“Yes, well, you can do the living the dreams thing, and I’ll do the paying the bills thing.”

“ _Finno_.” Maedhros took a step back. “Jesus. That’s not fair.”

Fingon looked at him expressionlessly for a moment and then the chill dissipated. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He reached over the counter and caught Maedhros’ hands. “Hey, no, come here, that was totally uncalled for. Sorry. This is just a little, uh, not what I want to be talking about right now. Kinda makes me tense. Can we shelve it?” He leaned across the counter and caught Maedhros’ chin, pulling him into a swift kiss. “I have to go to work. Good luck with everything today, okay?”

“Thanks.” Maedhros still looked troubled. “Fin…”

“I’m sorry, baby, you know I don’t mean any of it. Just Monday talking, right?” Fingon grabbed his bag from the hook by the door and slung it over his shoulder. “Let’s get greasy take-out for dinner to celebrate your first day. I’ll pick up if you call it in.” He blew Maedhros a kiss. “See you tonight!”

“Tonight,” said Maedhros, but he stayed leaning against the counter long after the door shut behind Fingon. Restlessly his fingers plucked at his collar, unconsciously loosening the tie. “We’ll talk more tonight.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_Hey, Sunshine, long time no see_

_Oh my god that nickname will not die_

_that aside_

_HOLY SHIT THEL YOU’RE TEXTING_

_Yes, I am quasi in the real world once more_

_Or close to it_

_The USMC has seen fit to grant me ten days of leave starting next week_

 

_Ten whole days wow they are too soft on you boys_

 

_Yes I often thought that while being screamed at, abused, and trying not to pass out from various fun activities_

_‘This could be harder’_

_‘Why are they going so easy on us’_

_‘my goodness is this boot camp for puppies’_

_woof_

_Woof indeed_

_But holy balls it’s good to hear from you again_

_Like hear from you for real_

_Realish_

_Balls aside, I’ll be home the 20_ _ th _

_Rather more than realish_

_Sweet hopping asstoads I am so pumped_

_Mmm I’ve missed your eloquent language choices_

_I know I bet you never hear a cuss in the company you’re in_   

_Not a one_

_All good-tempered and well-mannered gentlemen who never say ‘mothercunting satan fuck’ when climbing walls while loaded down with backpacks the size of elephants_

_They say only ‘jiminy christmas’ and dab faintly at their glistening brows_

 

_I want to compose a novel of your texts_

_‘Texts from Ecthelion: As sent to his biographer, Glorfindel the Gorgeous’_

_it would be novella length, considering HOW INFREQUENTLY YOU TEXT_

_but it would be an instant best-seller_

_‘The Gorgeous’, huh_

_Is that your wwf name?_

_I think my wwf name would be something like ‘The G-Spot’_

_but I’d have to give it more thought._

_Damn I’ve missed you_  

 

_Likewise._

_:’)_   

 

_So_

_The twentieth_

_My bus comes in to the terminal around 1pm – Gate 7 I think_

_If you’re interested in meeting me when I get in?_

_No worries if you’re busy_

_Thel_

_Wild horses couldn’t keep me away_

_I’ll see you there._

 

 


	61. Hypnotized from the day you were born

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chance encounters. Or not so chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. This chapter is dedicated to [thegreatpumpkin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatpumpkin/pseuds/thegreatpumpkin), whose birthday is today, and whose single comment on [this post](http://imindhowwelayinjune.tumblr.com/post/125808592003/i-am-so-thirsty-for-any-hint-of-your) spawned the entire second half of the chapter and totally negated all my carefully laid plans. Happy birthday, you rogue, hope you’re happy. (But seriously <3)  
> 1\. This chapter contains ZERO Finwions, which may be a first. It also includes some make outs, some Narn, and probably the least appropriate re-purposing of a line from the Athrabeth. Mea culpa.

Haleth had clocked out of her summer work study job at the office of campus life, where she spent her days nodding off over a computer and handing keys to summer residents. Thinking cheerfully about the soon approaching weekend, she was entirely unprepared for someone grabbing her as she passed by a tree and pulling her around.

Haleth let out an embarrassingly loud squeak of distress, and then, to make up for it, threw up her fists and yelled, “Yo, _WHAT_?” at the top of her voice.

“Gosh, nice reflexes. Bit shrill, but that’s probably fine.”

Haleth did a double take, recognized her assailant, sighed with relief, and then darted out a foot to kick her in the shins. “Don’t surprise me like that!”

Andreth dodged out of the way. “Sorry!”

"I could have hurt you!"

"I'm sure you could have."

“Wave next time, or call my name, or something, gawd, were you raised in a barn?”

“I waved _and_ called your name!” protested Andreth. “You didn’t notice.”

“I was focused,” said Haleth peevishly.

“Fine, but now I’ve successfully refocused your attention…” Andreth looked contrite and pleading all at once. 

Haleth grumbled and lowered her hands. “Yes, fine, you have. Can we walk while you tell me why you needed my attention? I’m _dying_ to get home and shower.”

“Sure.” Andreth fell into step next to Haleth, and they began the trek across campus.

“So,” said Haleth, when Andreth didn’t say anything. “What’s the crisis?”

“You’re going to judge me.”

“Who, me? I am so non-judgmental.”

“Hah.”

“What? I don’t judge my friends for their political opinions, even when they’re offensive and wrong – ”

“Yes, you do, all the time.”

“Or their choices in clothes…”

“Remember when you called Aredhel’s shorts ‘Hicktown, USA’?”

“She took it as a compliment. Anyway, I won’t judge _you_. What warrants you grabbing me like a crazed strangler?”

Andreth sighed. “I hooked up with Aegnor.”

Haleth didn’t stop walking, but she did stumble a little, catching her toe on an uneven bit of sidewalk. “ _Ouch._ ”

Andreth folded her arms. “You’re doing it, you’re judging me.”

“No, no, I swear…” Haleth shuffled her foot to try and straighten out her shoe. “Oh man, this explains what Aredhel was hinting at when she texted me last week. Jeez. Um, okay. So I’m guessing you hooked up at the party, right?”

“Yes.”

“Granted I wasn’t very with it that night, but from what I heard, you and Aegnor had less of a reconciliatory make out than a knock-down, drag-out screaming match.”

“No knocking or dragging, but yes, we did. That was the part that people saw, but it was followed by sex in the bathroom, which I hope no one saw. And I don’t know if I'd call it ‘reconciliatory’ exactly.”

“But good sex?”

“ _Great_ sex.”

“You two are so fucking consistent.”

Andreth groaned. “I know.”

Haleth shook her head. “So what happened after?”

“Nothing!”

“Mmhm. What happened after, _really?_ ”

“He texted me the next day. I went over to his place. We yelled at each other a bunch.”

“And?”

“And we had sex again.”

This time Haleth did stop, shaking her head in despair, but also laughing. “Seriously, girl?”

“I know.” Andreth hunched her shoulders and looked like she was trying to get all the embarrassing news out despite it causing her physical pain. “Aaand we’ve been hooking up every other day since.”

“Lord almighty. So are you back together again?”

“No! I mean, I don’t think so. I don’t know. I don’t want to. Maybe.”

Haleth glanced at Andreth, whose blush was showing through her tan. “Maybe?”

“He’s still a twit about the things he was a twit about before. It’s not like he _magically_ has a better grasp on why I had problems with the assumptions he made, or his privileged elitist rich boy ignorance, or the way he used to break up with me ‘for my own good and because he loved me too much to do this to me’ and all that shit…”

“I thought a good part of why you broke up was that stuff Finrod said to you.”

“He just made clear all the issues we were already having.”

“But apart from the sex, do you _like_ him still?”

“Yes. No. I kind of hate him. But he’s so – And he can keep up with me – And he challenges me and makes me laugh and is such a dork – And augh, the sex is so good.” Andreth dropped her head onto Haleth’s shoulder with a cry of despair as Haleth tried not to laugh again. “Why does he have to be so sexy and so wrong for me?”

“He’s not that sexy,” said Haleth, automatically. “His hair is ridiculous.”

“I like his hair,” said Andreth sadly.  

“Cleary.” Haleth patted Andreth’s shoulder. “Okay, hooking up with an ex is not so unusual, right? Stop beating yourself up, plenty of us have been there. Who else have you told?”

“No one.”

“Really? What about Amarië, she’s one of your best – ”

“Are you kidding? I can’t tell Amarië.”

“Why not?”

“I was the one who was all ‘Fuck those Arafinwion boys– ’”

“Heh, taking your own advice literally, then.”

“Shut up, I’m serious. I did mean it when I said those boys are bad news and we’re better off without them, even if they are horribly pretty. I was supposed to be the good role model for not letting a break up get in my head.”

Haleth wisely held her tongue at this, and Andreth went on. “She’s just starting to get over Finrod, what’s going to happen if she finds out I’ve slipped back into hooking up with his dumb brother?”

“You and Aegnor are a totally different story than her and Finrod! He cheated on her, repeatedly. Aegnor’s crime was being an oblivious arrogant white boy with commitment problems. He can outgrow those, presumably. I mean, he probably can’t outgrow being a white boy, but the rest…”

“I’m not even interested in dating him again! I think. I just want…I just like…”

“Fucking him,” provided Haleth, though she didn’t quite believe that was all there was to it.

“Yes. Don’t you think Amarië is going to judge me?”

“Well, I won’t tell if you don’t want me to, but I’d give her more credit.”

"Even if she doesn't judge me, it might just make her sad." Andreth sighed and hooked her arm though Haleth’s. “I don’t know. I was so proud of myself for moving on, and then it turned out I didn’t move on at all. Just don’t tell Amarië yet, okay?”

Haleth patted her hand. “I wont. So is he really that good in bed?”

“So good,” said Andreth woefully. “I swear I’m just a hapless moth and despite me repeatedly getting scorched, his dick is a flame I keep being drawn to.”

“ _Ew_.”

 

* * *

 

 

Beleg walked up to steps to the condemned house. Like most of the houses in this part of town, it was grim and grey and shuttered, but he guessed that it was only quasi-abandoned. From what he understood of this neighborhood, the house might not be ‘lived in’ in the traditional sense - ‘sporadically inhabited’, or perhaps ‘possessed’, might be closer to the mark. He was trying hard not to let his nerves show, but his hands were trembling as he rang the doorbell. After so many weeks of searching, would his efforts finally pan out?

He waited a while, until he realized there was no chance the doorbell still worked, and instead rapped on the door and stepped back. He hesitated, and was just about to knock again when the door was pulled open from the inside, and a cold-eyed, rough-dressed man stared out at him.

“Yeah?”

“I talked to someone who told me to come here at this time,” said Beleg. His voice was low and steady, but he shoved his hands into his pockets so his shaking fingers weren’t visible. “Are you Andróg?”

The man stared at him a while without answering, and then said, “Give me your phone.”

“What?”

“Phone.” The man beckoned impatiently. “Hand it over.”

Beleg reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, which he passed over. The man – Andróg, Beleg was sure it must be, because the voice sounded like the one he’d talked to earlier – flicked through it briefly, then pocketed it. “You’ll get it back later.”

Beleg considered protesting, but decided against it as Andróg turned into the house. Beleg closed his mouth and followed him into a dark hallway. They walked in silence for a while, through unlit hallways and rooms that smelled like mold and worse, until they reached a descending flight of stairs, and a basement room that seemed to be the only one in the house with electricity. A flickering light bulb lit the five other men sitting around the walls, and Beleg couldn’t hold himself back when his gaze landed on the youngest of them.

“Túrin!”

The dark-haired boy looked up, and his face briefly lit with some wild emotion, that was then carefully dimmed with an almost visible force of self-will.

“Nate,” said Andróg, shutting the door behind Beleg. “That shit who was looking for you is here.” It was clearly an unnecessary pronouncement; as soon as Beleg had entered, Túrin’s eyes had fixed on him without blinking, as if transfixed.

The rest of the crowd in the basement looked rough and not at all friendly towards a stranger in their midst, but every sense of caution had gone out of Beleg’s mind as soon as he’d laid eyes on Túrin.

“Túrin,” he said again, and crossed the room to drop to his knees before where Túrin was sitting. “Oh my god, I’ve been trying to find you all summer.” After hours, days of silence and anticipation, he suddenly couldn’t stop talking; it was like a burst of hysteria, or madness. “Listen, Nellas saw what happened between you and Saeros. She heard the slurs he used, and how he threatened you… I’ve gone to the Dean, and the President, and they’ve agreed that they won’t expel you or even suspend you until you’ve talked to them, and I know I can get Nellas to testify on your behalf, and I honestly think we can get them to see it was self-defense against a bias incident, if anything, and…and Túrin, you’ve _got_ to come back, please, this isn’t where you should be, come back, you can stay with me, it will be okay, I promise…”

But Túrin fixed grey eyes on him, and after an initial flicker like he was holding back some intense urge, said, in a cold monotone, “My name is Neithan.”

“What?” Beleg was confused, shaken; he reached out to try and take Túrin’s hand, and the men sitting beside him reached for their waistbands. “Túrin, I don’t understand.”

“While we’re here,” said Túrin in the same emotionless affect, “and from now on, I am not Túrin. I am Neithan.”

Beleg blinked, and took Túrin’s hand anyway, ignoring the shifting of hidden weaponry around the room. “I’ll call you whatever you want, T – Neithan, but please, please come home.”

“I’m not coming back,” said Túrin, in a voice far harder than his nineteen years. “I’m sorry you went to this trouble.” But he didn’t pull his hand away from Beleg’s.

“It was no trouble,” said Beleg, trying to conceal his despair. “Why… Why aren’t you coming back?”

“I’m not welcome,” said Túrin flatly. “I don’t want to be where I’m not welcome.”

“That’s not true.” Beleg cast a glance around at the distrustful eyes watching him. “Can we talk privately?”

“No,” said Andróg, who was still by the door.

“Please?” Beleg ignored Andróg, watching Túrin intently.

“Fine,” said Túrin at last, and gestured to the others with an authority that Beleg was both surprised and not surprised to see them respond to. “Leave us alone.”

Andróg was the last to leave, and he cast a deeply suspicious look at Beleg before he did, but at last the two of them were alone in the room. This time Beleg took both Túrin's hands in his own and tried to get his friend to meet his eyes. Túrin looked at him at last, and Beleg felt the slightest answering pressure against his hands. Somewhere, deep below the cool armor, there was some bright, unwavering light in Túrin’s eyes, a brightness that he fixed on Beleg as he stared back at him and held his hands tightly. Emboldened, Beleg tried again.

“You don’t belong here,” he whispered. “Idiots like Saeros don’t matter, it’s the rest of us who lo– care about you, and want you to come back…”

“If you think the things Saeros says are limited just to him, then it’s you who’s the idiot,” said Túrin, still not pulling his hands away. “I’ve been an outsider since I came to school, no matter what you and a couple others pretend.”

“So what, you’re going to exile yourself?” said Beleg, starting to get angry. “Take what those small-minded, idiotic bigots say to heart and act like the rest of us don’t matter, and just leave, stay with these…criminals, who don’t care about you? They don’t, Túr – Neithan, they don’t give a shit about you.”

“You don’t know them,” said Túrin, and his eyes were very dark, his voice very sharp. “You don’t know shit about acceptance, or what it feels like to be a part of something after so long being different.”

“You’re not different!”

“Sure.” Túrin laughed. “And yet _you_ don’t get called sa- the names I get called, do you? What do you know about being different? These people may not be _pretty_ or _educated_ like the rest of the assholes at B.U., but they don’t care where I come from, or where my parents came from, or what I look like, or where my father is. Go home, Beleg. You’re the one who doesn’t belong here.”

“Maybe not,” said Beleg, trying not to let the pain show, “Maybe you're right. Maybe staying would just show that I’m an idiot being led by his heart instead of his brain.”

Túrin clenched his jaw. “Yeah, probably.”

“But I don’t care, that’s not the point. My point is that you’re my… You’re my friend.” Beleg managed to keep his voice from catching, but realized he’d raised Túrin’s hand to his mouth, like he was going to kiss the knuckles beseechingly, or like the heat of his words could be felt by those long fingers. “And I’m not just going to let you vanish, however dumb I might be to try and keep chasing you.”

Túrin's eyes were fixed on Beleg’s mouth. “I _told_ you, I’m not coming back.”

“That’s fine,” said Beleg, still staring into those terribly young grey eyes and holding onto that lean brown hand. “You don’t have to come back. But I’m going to stay.”

And he pressed his lips to the back of Túrin's hand.

 

* * *

 

Glorfindel tried to compose his face into something properly solemn and welcoming, while attempting to stifle the grin that threatened to split his face in half. He bit his lips, and nearly died of asphyxiation as he tried to breathe through his nose and pretend he hadn’t run the full mile to the bus stop, skidding around corners. Belatedly, he realized what a mess he must look, his hair falling out of the messy bun he had knotted on top of his head, his skin flushed from excitement and exertion, and – oh, balls, he was wearing some idiotic shirt that said HOW BOUT DESE PYTHONS, well, that was auspicious, what a way to welcome someone…

…someone who was walking down the sidewalk towards him, his black hair very short and neat beneath his cap, his uniform fitting him criminally well, his skin browner than ever from the sun, his clear dark eyes fixed on Glorfindel…

Glorfindel’s breath caught, and then felt like it stopped entirely.

“Glorfindel.”

Glorfindel dragged himself together and fought the urge to salute. “Ecthelion. Hey. Welcome home.”

They stared at each other for a moment, and then Ecthelion crooked the corners of his lips in a slight smile. “I got your letters.”

They started to walk down the sidewalk, side-by-side like they always used to, far slower than the pace at which Glorfindel had arrived.

“I got yours.” Too few, and too brief, but read until the words wore out. “How was the bus ride?”

“Long. Too long. I…” Ecthelion raised his head from where he’d been watching the sidewalk, and stared at him for a prolonged beat. “I think I’ve been an idiot.”

“What?” Glorfindel looked over, taken aback. “I don’t think that’s a thing, Thel.” He smiled and jostled Ecthelion’s arm, trying to ignore the jolt of electricity that went through him at the contact. “You are, like, verifiably never an idiot.”

“No, I’m quite sure I’ve been very stupid,” said Ecthelion seriously. “I read your letters…a lot.” Glorfindel’s heart sped up. “I think I finally read…between the lines, as well.”

Glorfindel wavered, not sure if he was supposed to be terrified or exultant at these words.

“Oh, damn.” Ecthelion shook his head, looking frustrated with himself. “I honestly meant to save this until not the first five minutes I saw you, but…” He reached out and pulled Glorfindel around a corner into an alleyway, dropping his heavy bag to the ground with an emphatic thump. “I’ve spent the last three months thinking about you.”

Glorfindel felt his eyes go big.

_God._

“About what I want to say to you.”

_Godgodgodgod –_

“About what I wanted to…do. Once I was back here with you.” Ecthelion’s eyes dragged down Glorfindel’s body, and he reached out, almost hesitantly, for the strand of hair that had fallen into Glorfindel’s eyes. He brushed it behind Glorfindel’s ear, and blinked as their eyes met. “If you would want me to, of course.”

_Say something._

But Glorfindel’s tongue felt glued to the top of his mouth.

“Please tell me if I have misread anything, but I think, from your letters, and possibly from the past six years during which I have, as I said, been an idiot, that you may have certain feelings for me.”

At this, Glorfindel managed to let out a tiny huff of air.

Ecthelion tightened his jaw, and Glorfindel saw a muscle jump in his cheek. “Was I mistaken?”

“No,” croaked Glorfindel, and felt color flood his face. “You weren’t mistaken.”

Ecthelion’s chest rose and fell with a great sigh. “Good. I – Good. I am glad to hear it.”

“Are you?” Glorfindel wondered if he was going to start laughing hysterically. This was never how he’d imagined this conversation going, but it was so _Ecthelion_ that he should have expected it.

“I am,” said Ecthelion, very seriously. He paused. “May I,” he began, very formally, then coughed and drew himself up. He’d always been straight-backed, but boot camp had made him even more so. He even had his hands clasped behind him. “May I, if you don’t object, kiss you?”

“Yes,” said Glorfindel hoarsely.

“I do not wish to rush this confrontation, I know it is rather fast, it is just all I have thought about for the past – ”

“I said _yes_ , Ecthelion.” Glorfindel reached out and grabbed Ecthelion by the lapels, dragging him in until their chests bumped together.

“Oh. Good.” Ecthelion wrapped his hands over Glorfindel’s elbows, then he hesitated, and dropped them to Glorfindel’s waist instead. He looked down. “Um. I like your shirt.”

“You don’t have to compliment me before kissing me,” said Glorfindel, ready to slam Ecthelion into the alley wall and shut him up if he didn’t move more quickly. “You’ve been waiting three months? I’ve been waiting six years.”

“Fair point.” Ecthelion nodded briskly, and closed the distance between them.

When their mouths met, Glorfindel felt almost prayerful, and all he could think was, _God bless the United States Marine Corps. God bless having to write all those damn letters instead of texting like usual. God bless my inability to write anything with any subtlety._

_Sweet Jesus._

He had been wanting to kiss Ecthelion for so long that the actual moment was very nearly drowned out by what felt like every neuron in his brain doing a conga line. _This is it it’s happening this is real is it real it can’t be holy shit holy shit IT’S HAPPENING._ His brain was so overexcited, in fact, that he almost blanked out on what he was supposed to be doing to return the kiss. But then Ecthelion tightened his hands on Glorfindel’s hips, one of his thumbs sliding under the hem of his shirt to brush against bare skin, and Glorfindel’s brain shut down entirely except for, _Yes, this_ , and he let his mouth open for Ecthelion’s tongue. All that mattered was Ecthelion’s warm lips on his, the press of Ecthelion’s chest against him, the feeling of Ecthelion’s arms beneath Glorfindel’s hands. He realized he was gripping Ecthelion’s biceps rather hard, his fingers digging into the hard flesh beneath the material of Ecthelion’s uniform, and Ecthelion pulled back slightly to say, “Is everything all right?”

“Yes,” said Glorfindel, and licked his lips, a gesture that Ecthelion watched like he was riveted. “Your arms are very, are very nice. Did you – do they do special exercises for them in boot camp?”

Ecthelion stared at him, surprised, and then laughed. “I guess I should have expected you to ask inane questions at a time like this.”

“Yes, probably.”

“Yours are very nice too,” Ecthelion murmured, running his hands up Glorfindel’s bare arms, and Glorfindel shivered, and grabbed him and tried to kiss him again.  Their noses bumped, and he only got the corner of Ecthelion’s mouth, but Ecthelion responded eagerly, and Glorfindel felt a great leap of pleasure and satisfaction that he could clearly sense Ecthelion’s _want_ just as much as his own. _About time._

He pulled Ecthelion back so they were pressed to the alley wall, unable to keep his hands from roaming avidly over Ecthelion’s torso, tugging at his uniform and exploring the solidness of muscle that three months of training had given him. Ecthelion slid his hands up under Glorfindel’s shirt, running his fingers along Glorfindel’s ribcage, and every brush of his fingers sent electricity crackling over Glorfindel’s skin and down to where their hips were aligned. Glorfindel shifted slightly, so that Ecthelion’s thigh wedged between his legs, and he was just telling himself to resist the urge to grind down against it when Ecthelion pressed forward and rubbed tantalizingly against his groin. Glorfindel let out an embarrassingly needy moan that was thankfully stifled against Ecthelion’s mouth, and immediately Ecthelion was deepening their kiss, his tongue insistent against Glorfindel’s. Glorfindel was quite sure they would have stayed like that, grinding against each other, until the world ended or they both came – though admittedly one was more likely than the other to happen first – had not Ecthelion’s phone chosen that exact moment to ring.

“Oh, no,” said Glorfindel indistinctly, and tried to hang on to Ecthelion’s shoulders to keep him from reaching for his pocket.

“I’m sorry, I have to,” Ecthelion murmured, sliding his thigh from between Glorfindel’s legs. He ran a hand over his hair distractedly, his cap having been knocked to the ground, and Glorfindel itched to drag his fingers against Ecthelion’s scalp. “Hello? Oh – hi, baba.” He cast an apologetic glance at Glorfindel as he pulled away.

Glorfindel dropped back against the wall, his hair by now entirely loose and falling messily over his shoulders. Ecthelion had stepped back into the alley and was pacing as he talked on the phone. He glanced up at Glorfindel, once, and his lips parted in a small smile. He crossed back to him, phone still at his ear, and very carefully swept Glorfindel’s hair out of his face. He ran a finger lightly over Glorfindel’s swollen lips, then closed his eyes, seemed to brace himself, and stepped away again. “Yes, baba, I can be home for dinner. I – no, I don’t need a ride from the bus, I’ll get myself across town. Yes. Will Ría be there? Okay. Okay. I’ll see you soon.” He hung up, and Glorfindel reached out to smooth down the shoulders of his uniform.

“I’m afraid I have to go.”

“I figured.” Glorfindel heaved himself up from the wall and pulled his hair into a sloppy ponytail to keep Ecthelion from frowning at him. “So you’re just going to leave me here with a stupid grin on my face and a newfound uniform kink.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Glorfindel reached timidly for Ecthelion’s hand. Somehow, taking their palms against each other felt more intimate than the kiss. “Somehow I think I’ll still be stupid grinning the next time you see me, too. Actually, I stupid grin every time I see you, even when you haven’t kissed me stupid…er, and this is definitely the first time you’ve kissed me, so – ”

“Hush,” ordered Ecthelion, chuckling, and leaned forward to kiss Glorfindel once more. “We need to actually talk at some point, too,” he said, more seriously, when they broke apart. “About the whole six years thing, that’s probably first, and then what you’ve been up to these past three months, and then other things, such as why on earth you’re wearing such an idiotic tee-shirt.”

“You complimented it earlier,” Glorfindel pointed out, not letting go of Ecthelion’s hand.

“I was making small talk.”

“You chose a ridiculous time to do it.”

“I was nervous.”

“You’re never nervous.”

“Hah.” Ecthelion half smiled, and looked at the ground. “Then I must be a very good actor.”

“And a good liar. God, now I’ll know never to trust any compliment you give me because you might secretly be thinking ‘oooh, he’s wearing an idiotic tee-shirt, now I’ll never kiss him again’.”

“That won’t happen,” said Ecthelion firmly. “If you’re wearing an idiotic tee-shirt, well, I’ll just have to get you out of it.”

“Christ, and you expect me to let you go now?”

“Sorry.” Ecthelion squeezed Glorfindel’s fingers, and then released his hand. “I really do need to go. Can I call you later?”

“As late as you want.”

Ecthelion nodded, retrieved his bag from the ground and shouldered it, and turned to go. The he turned slightly back. “I’m home for ten days,” he said quietly. “And…ten nights. May I spend some of them with you?”

“If you don’t, I’m following you back to the USMC.”

“They’d welcome you.” Ecthelion smiled. “What with your arms, and all. But they’d make you cut your hair.”

“Then that’s out.”

“I quite agree.” Ecthelion’s gaze lingered on Glorfindel’s bright head. “I’m sorry this moved so fast. One minute we’re friends, and then next…”

“We’re still friends,” said Glorfindel easily. “That’s never going to change. We might just add something else to the mix, hey?”

Ecthelion let out his breath, looking relieved. “Yeah. I’ll call you.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

Ecthelion settled his cap on his head and set off around the corner. Glorfindel watched him until he was out of sight, and then leaned back against the wall and smiled at the sky.

It was a beautiful day.

And the next ten promised to be equally good.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2\. LOOK LOOK LOOK IT'S BEEN [ILLUSTRATED](http://imindhowwelayinjune.tumblr.com/post/127176227983/snuskens-listen-up-everybody)


	62. Wouldn’t it be nice, drifting out to sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyelko gets sheared, Finrod and Galadriel get salty, and Glorfindel waits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Warnings for some make outs, some boating, and some giving Celegorm shit.

“It’s gotten entirely out of hand. You look like a shrubbery.” Curufin spoke with utter authority, hands on his hips.

“No, more like a sheepdog,” said Maglor, who was standing next to him with his arms crossed and his head tilted to the side.

Celegorm whined, which did nothing to make Maglor’s comparison less apt. “Leave me alone, you judgmental bitches. There’s nothin’ wrong with my hair.”

Curufin reached out and flicked a piece of it out of Celegorm’s face. “There’s too much of it.”

Celegorm made a face at him. “Not all of us feel like rocking the Fëanor 2.0.”

“I bet we could swap resumes, right now, and I’d still be more likely to get hired than you, because I don’t look like an afghan hound conceived during the summer of love.”

“Leave poor Tyelko alone,” said Aredhel, uncurling from where she’d been napping on the couch.

Celegorm sniffed and leaned back against the couch, resting a beleaguered head on her knee. “They’re bullying me somethin’ awful.”

“Aw, don’t worry, baby. I’ll fix it.” Aredhel pulled him upright and began fiddling with his hair, which was indeed very shaggy, and reached to his shoulders.

Celegorm started to speak, then winced. “Ouch! What are you doing?”

“Giving you French braids. You’re going to look like Heidi!”

Maedhros stuck his head through the front door just as Celegorm made an outraged noise. “Hello? Anyone home? I brought bagels, as ordered, and…oh my god, Tyelko, you look like Artanis on steroids.”

“Everyone leave off!” bellowed Celegorm, shaking free of Aredhel, who was chuckling and had half plaited his hair. “Look, maybe it’s gotten a bit out of control, but I like it long, and so does…other people…and I’m not about to spend sixty bucks on some hipster haircut just so I can end up looking like Nelyo.”

Maedhros ran a self-conscious hand through his hair as Curufin dropped into a chair and crossed his arms and legs, still watching Celegorm critically. “It’s not sixty…”

“No,” said Maglor, “it’s more. And you don’t have to go somewhere, Tyelko, I can do it for you.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Let him.” Curufin nodded in a businesslike fashion. “He can’t make it worse than it is. For god’s sake, didn’t you and your meathead friends used to _shave_ your heads every year? Why pull a Samson hissy fit now?”

“It’s different.” Celegorm looked woebegone, and his bangs flopped into his eyes again as the half formed braid Aredhel had started unwound completely. “Gawd, you assholes.” Huan trotted across the room and laid his head comfortingly in Celegorm’s lap. Celegorm scratched at his ears and Huan drooled happily onto his leg.

“I’ll get the good scissors,” said Maglor, heading out of the room. “Curvo, can you get a bowl of water and a comb?”

Curufin jumped out of his chair with surprising alacrity and darted into the kitchen. Maedhros began setting out bagels and cream cheese on the coffee table, while Aredhel poured fresh coffee from the pot.

Half an hour later, Celegorm was sitting cross-legged and shirtless on a towel on the ground while Maglor knelt behind him wielding scissors and comb and frowning thoughtfully. Curufin hovered just to his right.

“It’s uneven under the ear.”

“I know, give me a sec.”

“And look,” Curufin reached out and pulled two strands of Celegorm’s hair down on either side of his face. “Did you thin these sections unevenly?”

“Help,” whispered Celegorm, and twitched as water dripped down his back.

“Shut up, it’s a work in progress.” Maglor tucked his own hair back under his bandana and waved his scissors threateningly at Curufin. “And if I hear one more peep, you can do it yourself.”

“Uh uh, don’t let Curvo do it,” said Celegorm immediately. “He’ll turn me into Mitt Romney or something.”

“Still better than looking like a mangy He-Man.”

“Shut _up_ , Curvo.”

Across the room, Maedhros passed the lox to Aredhel, who was busily spreading cream cheese on a poppy seed bagel. “Want some morning fish?”

“You know I love that morning fish.”

Maglor snipped very carefully. Celegorm squeezed his eyes closed, and Curufin bit his lips to keep from saying anything. Maglor leaned back and examined his work. “Hmm.”

No one spoke.

Maglor hemmed and hawed for another minute, then turned reluctantly to Curufin. “Is it even on the sides?”

Curufin immediately jumped forward and took Celegorm’s face in his hands, turning it from side to side as he studied it with a focus he usually reserved for micro-circuitry. “Take another half centimeter on the left and let’s try some long layers in the back.”

“Agreed.”

“I don’t want it short,” said Celegorm pathetically. “Just a little neater.”

“That’s what we’re doing, sh.”

Caranthir’s door opened and he ambled out, yawning. “I smelled coffee. Is there food? You’re all being too loud for this early in the – Oh, are we shearing Tyelko? ‘Bout time.”

“Some people like me with long hair,” mumbled Celegorm, slumping, and immediately straightening up again as Curufin poked him in the chest.

“Yeah, leave enough so that his boyfriend still has something to grab onto,” said Caranthir, sniggering, and grabbed a bagel from Maedhros’ plate. “Ew, is that salmon?”

“Give me my breakfast back, you thief.”

Caranthir carefully let his mouthful of half chewed bagel and lox drop back onto the plate while Maedhros looked revolted.

“You gonna shave him bald?” Caranthir addressed Maglor while absently handing the plate back to Maedhros, who dropped it immediately. “It’ll be better than whatever this is.”

“You are not one to talk shit about haircuts.” Celegorm glowered across the room at Caranthir. “Mr. Goth phase, Mr. Emo phase, Mr. It’s-not-asymmetrical-the-world-is-asymetrical-you’re-all-just-squares. You’ve been having bad hair days since 1996.”

“But I never looked like Thor with a gland problem.”

“Is this national kick Tyelko in the balls day? Christ.”

“If it is, I think it should be an annual holiday.” Aredhel looked cheerful at the prospect.

“Done!” Maglor announced, and stepped back. Everyone crowded around to look while Celegorm struggled to his feet.

“Back up, you bastards, let me at a mirror.”

“He looks sort of well-groomed!”

“Let’s not overstate things. He looks less poorly groomed than before…”

“You should try some side swept bangs next time.”

“You should try an electric buzzer next time.”

“Has he always been that blond? Tyelko, do you dye your hair?”

“How _dare_ you?” Celegorm growled and pushed assorted brothers out of the way. “Where’s a goddamn mirror?”

Everyone peered around the bathroom door as Celegorm leaned close to the mirror and examined himself. He ran a hand over his jaw and squinted.

“Hunh.”

“I think it looks good,” said Maglor mildly, from the back of the crowd.

“Yeah,” said Celegorm after an interlude. “Yeah, hell yeah. Not that it’s hard for me to look good; I am clearly the hottest member of the family, and honestly, I was trying to downplay it by going for the shaggy look, try to shield y’all from some of the inferiority issues that must come up by being exposed to this much sex appeal – ”

“That’s quite enough of that,” said Curufin. He smiled brightly at his brother in the mirror, and then swept the door shut, wedging a chair under the handle and locking Celegorm in the bathroom by himself. The crowd nodded and murmured approval and shuffled back into the living room as Celegorm hammered on the door and roared threats. “Are there any more sesame bagels?”

“Yes, and we put it in a separate bag so the onion bagel wouldn’t affect it, as requested,” said Maedhros, handing over a bagel on a plate. “Voila. So hey, I’ve been meaning to ask, Curvo, how are things going with – ”

“I’m going to take a shower,” Caranthir interrupted. “Save me some food and someone make more coffee.” He headed upstairs as Maglor started to refill the coffee pot.

“How are things going with Findaráto?” persisted Maedhros, a somewhat forced smile on his face. “Are you going to see him this weekend?”

“You’re census-taking again, mother,” said Curufin, buttering his bagel.

“No, he is ‘Taking an Active Interest’,” said Maglor. “Heaven knows why, Nelyo, you know it’s like hitting your head against a locked door.” As he spoke, the chair holding the bathroom door shut finally slipped loose and skittered across the hallway as Celegorm bulled his way through the door.

“Right,” he said, dangerously, shaking his newly shorn hair and balling his fists. “ _Right._ ”

“I’m in the middle of a conversation with Maitimo,” said Curufin hastily, as Celegorm started for him.

“Yes, Tyelko, knock it off.” Maedhros reached out a hand, absently grabbing Celegorm’s shoulder and shoving him down. Celegorm dropped, grumbling but submissive. “So? Are you going to be doing anything with Findaráto this weekend?”

“No,” said Curufin, still keeping one eye on Celegorm. “He’s with his sister and grandparents on the Vineyard.”

“Oh, _good_ , Artanis needed to get out and about.” Aredhel patted the couch next to her as Lómion slunk into the room. He cast a deeply suspicious look at Huan before jumping up next to Aredhel. “And that’ll probably be a good way to keep Ingoldo from obsessing over the fact that Turno and Amarië have their first date this weekend.”

“True.” Maglor sat down cautiously next to Lómion, who eyed him balefully but didn’t move.

“Wait,” said Curufin, pausing with a cup of coffee halfway to his mouth. “What was that last part?”

 

* * *

 

 

The sun glinted so brightly off the waves that even wearing sunglasses, Finrod had to shade his eyes with one hand. His other was on the tiller of _Le Cygne,_ the boat he and his siblings had grown up learning to sail when visiting their grandparents on the coast. The wind sang in the rigging, scattering a spray of salt water from the tops of the waves frothing against the prow of the boat. Finrod let his hand slide down the tiller, and called out to his sister. Galadriel slipped lightly from the bow, ducking the boom, and made her way to the mast, her hands flying nimbly over the rigging to let out the sail. The wind caught her long hair and it streamed over her face as she ducked once more and pressed herself to the other side of the boat.

She moved with the sway of the boat, moved with the gusting wind, and lifted her head, laughing into the spray, the sun so bright behind her golden head that she stood illuminated, a slender beacon against the horizon.

Of the four of them, she had always loved the sea the most.

As children, Aegnor and Angrod had enjoyed tumbling in the waves with the rest of them well enough. They had enjoyed more the loud and raucous things one could do on the water, skimming over waves on jet skis and behind speedboats on wakeboards. But as they grew older, they turned more to the woods and hills, mountain biking in the summer and skiing in the winter, and their trips to the beach became perfunctory family trips where they spent more time playing beach volleyball and making friends with the lifeguards than going sailing with the others.

Galadriel had learned to sail youngest of them all, pressed tight to Eärwen’s side or reaching over the side to grasp at waves, so eager for the water that she risked falling in – and did, many times. She never feared the water, and she never tired of it, but she, like her brothers, had spent less and less time at the ocean as she got older and school and responsibilities took precedent. She had confided to Finrod once that she had some deep certainty that she would end up, ultimately, living far away from the ocean, and that it made her achingly sad sometimes.

“But there is nothing actually to say that will be the case,” he’d tried to reassure her, though he also knew from experience that her ‘strong hunches’ could be eerily accurate.

“No, that’s true,” she’d said. “But still… ”

Celeborn’s family came from inland; his parents’ house was in the dense woods and hills further west, and Finrod wondered if it was of this setting that Galadriel was thinking; in this setting that she assumed she would end up.

But Galadriel had always loved the sea.

Finrod himself had always loved being out on the water, ideally well away from the drone of speedboats and the clamor of beachgoers. He’d loved learning the patterns of wind and current, loved the shrieking gulls and the smell of salt. Most of all he had loved spending time at his mother’s side as she taught him how to tack and jib. Sometimes she would let the boat capsize, to get him used to the sensation and to not fear the waves and as a result Finrod was never fearful, but always deeply aware of the water’s power.

It had been a long time, though, since Finrod had spent much time at sea, as caught up in studying and work as he had been. He had declined to go the last several times Eärwen had let him know they were headed to the Vineyard house, and it had taken him until now to realize just how much he’d missed it.

Finrod lifted his face to the sun, mimicking Galadriel’s exultant gesture, and felt the sun warm on his skin. One of the great tragedies of the past several years, he thought, was how little time he had been able to spend outside and in the fresh air, much less on the water. He had spent so many early summers browned by the light reflecting off the waves and endless hours playing on the sand with his siblings, that in the absence of trips he felt he must have grown pale and brittle, made weaker and duller by the dim light of his office at the university. As he spent more time inside, so too had he turned inward, simultaneously preoccupied with expectation and the weight of what he should be doing, and doing all he could to ignore that reality. He had felt somehow disconnected from the fact that he was actually traveling through life, actually present in the warm and beating world.

It was true that recently he had started to remember again; had started to appreciate just how beautiful things could be. Small things, but meaningful.

Things such as grey eyes, a warm hand in his, a cool voice. Small things like the reminder of fresh-blooming springs, purple blossoms pressed between the pages of his journals; hot summer nights, sweet curling smoke; the reading of beloved books; the company of good friends.

It was true that there was still much he didn’t know, still much he feared, still much that chewed at his stomach naggingly – _they are together this weekend, no, don’t think about it_ – still so much to worry about.

But the waves –

They felt like home, and fear and resentment had no place here.

Just now, Finrod felt as elated as his sister, set free by the familiarity of wave and salt and the clang and hum of the sail against the mast, feeling the boat respond to his touch as he eased them into the wind.

In the bow, Galadriel laughed into the spray, sounding young and joyful, and cried, “Look, Ingo! Seals!”

Finrod laughed too, and called out a greeting to the seals sunning themselves on the outcropping as they passed, as he thought, _I am alive. It’s a good thing to remember._

 

* * *

 

 

“Glorfindel?”

“YES, hi, hello.” Glorfindel answered the phone so fast he nearly took his ear off.

He’d been lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, doing what he had for more or less the past several days: replaying that moment in the alleyway over and over. _Like a sap._ Ecthelion, staring at him with such earnestness. Ecthelion, asking formally to kiss him. Ecthelion pressing him back against the wall and kissing him, his hands at Glorfindel’s waist, his thigh pressing between Glorfindel’s legs… Every time Glorfindel got this far into the memory, he would let out a little whistle between his teeth, thump his head against the pillows, and resist the urge to cover his face with his hands.

 _Call me already, call me call me call me_ ….

It hadn’t happened that first night, despite Ecthelion’s promises. Instead he’d gotten an apologetic text around 10.

_I’m sorry, looks like I can’t get away tonight! I’ll be in touch tomorrow when I know more._

Fair enough, Glorfindel had thought. He was still slightly in shock from the whole incident, and had gone to bed happily, thinking of the next day.

But the next day hadn’t panned out as anticipated either.

_Augh, so, it turns out my family is planning on going away for the weekend…_

_Looks like I’m going to be at the coast with them until Monday. I’m really sorry._

Then had followed two and a half days of nothing, as Glorfindel’s glee and anticipation turned slowly into roiling impatience and anxiety.

_Why isn’t he texting me, at least? Maybe they don’t get service at the beach. Maybe his parents don’t want him on the phone when he’s spending family time. That makes sense. That’s fair. They haven’t seen him in three months, after all…_

_But neither have I!_

_Yes, but they’re his family, they get priority._

_Still. One text, at night maybe?_

But not even that.

_I wonder if he regrets it._

_He might. He’s not the one with the hopeless crush for six years; he didn’t even think about you that way until the past couple months. Right? He didn’t actually elaborate on that. But he kinda implied it hadn’t occurred to him until he got my letters. Maybe he only kissed me because he felt bad, or wanted to make me happy. It’s the sort of thing he would do._

_Why hasn’t he texted?_

_He regrets it. He must._

And then…

“Glorfindel?”

“YES, hi, hello.” The shrill tone of his phone ringing had sent his heart into overdrive. Glorfindel coughed and cleared his throat, trying to lower his voice an octave. “Hey.”

“Do you have a cold?” Ecthelion sounded concerned.

“What? No.”

“Your voice sounds a bit hoarse.”

Glorfindel coughed again and spoke normally. “I’m fine. So how was the beach?”

“It was fine.” Ecthelion’s tone was crisp, and Glorfindel could almost see him shifting slightly from foot to foot, the only way he ever betrayed impatience. “I… Well, it was good I spent time with my family. I’m sorry I wasn’t in touch, I left my charger at home and my phone died.”

“Ah, no worries,” said Glorfindel breezily, as if he hadn’t held tiny prayer vigils over his phone every night for the past three days. “It hasn’t been long.”

_Just centuries._

“Where are you now?”

“At my place.”

“Ah.” Ecthelion breathed in, breathed out on the other end of the line. “Can I come over?”

“Sure!” Glorfindel suddenly felt his face might crack as an involuntary grin spread across it. “I can also meet you somewhere if that’s easier.”

“No, stay right there. Don’t move.” Ecthelion sounded almost terse on the other end. “I mean, I want to make sure you’re actually there when I come over, I’ve been… Just stay put, I’ll be over soon.”

Glorfindel hung up, laughed at the ceiling for a while, and then jumped up with an exclamation and began flying around his room. He shoved clothes piles back into drawers, the closet, under his bed; shuffled piles of books and papers into teetering heaps on his desk; dragged old trophies to the forefront of his shelves while shoving phallus-shaped ‘#1 GOLDEN FLOWER: GROWER NOT A SHOWER’ joke awards from his teammates into dark corners.

When the smart rap came on his door, Glorfindel opened it as casually as he could, though so quickly Ecthelion only managed to get half a knock in.

“Hey, welcome ba- ”

Ecthelion didn’t say anything, didn’t even let the door close behind him. He just reached out and pulled Glorfindel close into a swift, scorching kiss.

Glorfindel immediately wrapped his arms around Ecthelion’s waist and responded eagerly; if he had been starting to doubt the strength of Ecthelion’s fervor, those doubts were utterly assuaged now. Ecthelion wasn’t wearing his uniform this time, dressed in his street clothes, and despite Glorfindel’s insistence that he’d developed a uniform kink, Ecthelion wore a plain white tee-shirt in a very stirring way. Glorfindel yielded to the urge he’d had before, to drag his fingers through Ecthelion’s closer cropped hair, his thumbs brushing Ecthelion’s ears, and Ecthelion made a faint sound against Glorfindel’s lips.

“What was that?” Glorfindel murmured, but Ecthelion just shook his head frantically and pressed closer. Glorfindel pulled him into the room and kicked the door shut, not loosing his grip on Ecthelion’s shirt. He considered whether it was time to throw Ecthelion down on the bed or if they should stay standing for a while longer – How long did making out usually last, standing up? Should they lean against the wall? That had worked before. He wasn’t sure what would happen on the bed, though it made his heart race faster in anticipation or fear at the thought, but Ecthelion seemed to have different ideas, and pulled away entirely.

“Hey, no.” Glorfindel reached out for him again. “No fair.”

“I’m sorry,” said Ecthelion, and he looked so distressed that Glorfindel felt momentarily alarmed.

“What? What are you sorry for?”

Ecthelion sank down on the edge of the bed, and Glorfindel sat next to him, laying a cautious hand on his knee. “Thel?”

“I wanted this to go differently,” said Ecthelion, looking wan and unhappy. “I didn’t want such a _rush._ I wanted us to have time to talk and to spend time together where we could relax and do things, and go to the places I’ve missed going with you… Like visiting Elemmakil at The Underground, or the fountain in the park where you and I and Turgon used to feed the pigeons, or – ”

“We can do that,” said Glorfindel, squeezing his leg comfortingly. “We can do all that. Elemmakil told me they have a new sandwich at The Underground called Tunnel Vision – it has pastrami, but I figure we should try it anyway, I was just waiting for you to come back.”

“You’ve waited long enough. But I didn’t want to wait all this time…” Ecthelion still looked miserable. “I didn’t want to wait all this time and then just…have to rush things.”

“What are we rushing?”

“And I don’t want to treat you like a booty call, you’re my best friend and the best person I know and you don’t deserve that.”

“Hey, you’re not treating me like a booty call but, um, who said I had a problem with booty calls? I don’t mind you coming over _any time_ and kissing me stupid, I think I’ve said this before.”

“I wanted to do this _right_ ,” said Ecthelion, who was apparently not listening to any of Glorfindel’s attempts at comfort, and put his head in his hands.

Glorfindel scooted closer, so they pressed together, side by side. He laid an arm over Ecthelion’s shoulders and hugged him lightly. “Thel. The thing about ‘this’? Is that it’s _our_ call whether we’re doing this right, and guess what, I’m totally happy with whatever. And for Chrissakes, you’re not treating me like a booty call, we’ve got all d– ”

“I have twenty minutes,” said Ecthelion, into his hands. “And then my entire extended family is expecting me at a cookout at my grandmother’s house.”

“ _Oh_.” Glorfindel fell silent.

There was a pause, during which the room was so quiet that Glorfindel could hear Ecthelion swallow painfully, as if he had a lump in his throat.

_Well._

“Damned if I’m going to waste twenty minutes on you being miserable,” Glorfindel said, tamping down the disappointment that was threatening to close off his own throat, and lifted Ecthelion’s chin. “There are ways to spend twenty minutes that I would quite enjoy, I think.” He winked, and ran his thumb over Ecthelion’s lower lip, trying to remember exactly the tone Ecthelion had used in the alley. “May I, if you don’t object, kiss you?”

Ecthelion smiled crookedly at him, and raised his hand to Glorfindel’s cheek. “Please.”

Glorfindel smiled brilliantly in return, holding back the anguished little voice in the back of his head wailing _Twenty minutes? And less than a week left before you lose him again –_ and kissed his friend.

They ended up on the bed together after all, though twenty minutes was by no means long enough.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. There is already [an illustration of Glorfindel's immaculate room](http://snartha.tumblr.com/post/128284894856/just-for-you-imindhowwelayinjune-scene-from-the), thanks to Snartha. <3333


	63. I'm laughing at the sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Warnings for implied sexual content, brief make outs, demons, and Celegorm in his element (clothed!).

It was late and had grown pitch black outside, not that this made much difference in the small bedroom; from the beginning the lights had been out and the curtains drawn.

In the darkness came the sound of a short exhale, and then a creak as the bed shifted. “All right, well. I should go.”

“Mmm. Don’t and say you did.”

“I have an early shift in the morning.”

“You used that excuse last time.”

“It doesn’t mean it wasn’t true then. Or now. Let go, I can’t get up when you’re wrapped around me like that.”

“I hate how you always get to be the one to leave.”

“How the hell else can we do it, if we’re always at your place? Also, you’ve done _plenty_ of leaving in the past, maybe it’s my turn.”

“Nice dig, there. Cute.”

“Call me cute again, motherfucker.”

“ _Oof_. See, you gotta stay now, because we’re about to fight. And you know what that leads to.”

“You think I’m just here for the sex?”

“If you weren’t, you wouldn’t leave as soon as we finished.”

There was a shifting of sheets. Bare legs slid against each other, and there was a sharp intake of breath.

“Maybe I like the role reversal.”

“God, enough already. Your ability to hold a grudge is the least sexy thing about you.”

“Your _personality_ is the least sexy thing about you.”

There was a very busy kind of silence. The bedframe creaked, and a faint moan broke the quiet.

“No, don’t move – Keep your hand right…there…”

“Good thing I don’t use my _personality_ on this part of you, since you seem to enjoy it so much.”

“Smugness is part of your problem, too, you know. Oh _god._ Right – Harder – ”

Heavy breathing, followed by a gasp.

“We never even finished our fight. You’re running out of excuses for why you’re staying.”

“Who said I was staying?”

The bed started to shift rhythmically against the wall.

“Oh, yeah, just like that _..."_

"Shh, keep your voice down. _Damn._  Why is your bed so loud? This is the opposite subtle. No one will _ever_ guess what’s going on in here.”

“They might, but they won’t guess it’s you.”

“Why, do you often have someone else in here? Who?”

“Jesus.”

“You can’t just kiss me every time you don’t like what I’m – ”

“Watch me.”

Another breathless moment. The creaking of the bed continued, quickened, and someone cried out, followed by a heavy breath and an incoherent murmur.

It was almost totally dark. It was almost totally quiet.

“I should – ”

“Stay.” A soft, muffled sound. “Please. Please stay.”

“I – Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

After a while, they opened the curtains, and let the moonlight in.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_hi dude_

_hi? Wow it’s been kind of a while. How’s it going?_

_Not bad._

_Good. Ish?_

_Ok I’m not going to lie I’m texting you because I’m going kind of nuts_

_And need help?_

_What's wrong?_

_What happened?_

_Are you okay?_

_Yeah yeah no I’m fine_

_I just need_

_Um_

_Advice?_

_Idk_

_Ok…_

_I wouldn’t have texted you but I was going kind of crazy_

_Like I was about to text your cousin for romantic advice_

_That’s where I was at_

_That’s how dire the straits_

_Which cousin?_

_Celegorm_

_Holy shit, Glorfindel_

_What happened?_

_:-)_

_that’s not an answer, glorfindel_

_I know, I’m feeling awkward_

_What was the romantic advice you were almost desperate enough to go to my cousin for?_

_‘how to deal with hooking up with your best friend when he’s only around for 10 days and has a lot of things he needs to do in that time but you’ve been in love with him since you were 17 and would kinda like to figure out what now’_

_!!!!??!?!?!!?!??!_

_YOU HOOKED UP WITH ECTHELION_

_????????!_

_a lil_

_GLORFINDEL_

_hey turgon what’s up_

_TELL ME THE THIGNS_

_THISNG*_

_Details_

_Haha_

_Whaddaya wanna know_

_Um well_

_Nothing grisly_

_But_

_Did you finally make a move_

_NO_

_he did_

 

_WHAT_

_I know_

_What happened?_

_He got home from usmc and just like kissed me_

_Womp womp_

_…_

_then vanished for three days_

_WHAT THAT DICK_

_No I mean he had family stuff_

_Ok…_

_You know how responsible he is_

_But still. He just kissed you and then left?_

_Sort of. But he didn’t want to._

_Okay._

_Then he came over_

_And_

_We hooked up?_

_He tried to go down on me_

_Sorry_

_I know that’s grisly details_

_It’s okay_

_‘tried’?_

_there wasn’t time, he had to go_

_and I was a little bit_

_something_

_something?_

_Ahhh I don’t know_

_even though I’ve wanted this for years_

_I was a little_

_freaked_

_Yeah_

_I want more time with him_

_And I don’t know if it’s overstepping to, like, demand that_

_Because we’re not dating or officially anything_

_We’re friends who have hooked up_

_And he’s in a tough spot needing to prioritize family and usmc demands etc_

_But I kind of need to actually sit down and talk with him_

_Before we just have sex or something_

_And then he has to race off again._

_I don’t want to be needy though, it’s not like we’re official_

_Isn’t that why you should talk, though?_

_Yeah that’s sort of what I’m flipping out about_

_Do you think I should do something?_

_Well_

 

Typing busily, Turgon rounded the corner and smacked squarely into a burly orderly, who growled, “Watch it, kid.”

“Sorry!” Turgon picked up his phone, which he’d dropped, and rubbed his head, which had collided with the orderly’s shoulder. “Ouch. Oh, damn.” His screen was cracked, a series of lines spidering out from the bottom. But it wasn’t cracked enough to obscure the time display in the upper right corner. “Oh, DAMN.” Hoisting in his backpack back over his shoulder, Turgon took off running. His phone vibrated again.

_‘well’?_

_what does that mean?_

_Turgon?_

“Ahhh.” Turgon tried to type a response while jogging down the hospital steps.

_Ikm sry! Im actyualtl at the hospital n trynig to get to a datething I have_

_Nd I just droppd my phone_

_I jst rlized im like 15 mins late alreadt_

_A date thing?_

_Turgon!_

_For god’s sake ignore my hysteria and go to your date thing!_

_One should never keep a lady as lovely as Amarie waiting ;)_

_ill call u ltr tho bc I have thougts on u+cthelion_

_don’t sweat it dude, seriously, I’ll be fine_

_enjoy your date!_

 

_-_

 

Amarië was standing at the spot on the edge of campus where they’d agreed to meet, and to his shame Turgon saw her check her watch with a look of distinct nervousness as he rounded the corner. He raced up, panting and sweaty-faced, but suddenly in mind of the last time he’d encountered her under very similar circumstances – late, disheveled, and entirely unprepossessing.

_This had better not become my signature._

Her eyes lit up with relief as she saw him, despite the flop of hair in his eyes and the sweat he very quickly wiped from his brow, and then shifted to confusion as her gaze traveled down his body.

_Shit, I never changed my clothes, did I?_

Turgon looked down at his scrubs hopelessly, then back up at Amarië. “Um, hi.”

“Hi.”

“I’m so sorry I’m late, I was coming from my shift at the clinic, and I lost track of time, and then a friend texted – not Finrod,” he added at once, and then felt quite sure that this disclaimer was far more awkward than if he’d said nothing at all. “Um. Someone else. And I had meant to change before meeting you, but I ran out of time, and…” He trailed off, taking in Amarië’s neat white blouse and well-fitting jeans.

“You look….really nice,” he said feebly. “ _Really_ nice.” Should he say something about how shiny her hair was? It was very shiny, and pretty, tied back in a long ponytail with a blue ribbon, but he wasn’t sure if one commented on such things.

_Don’t comment on her hair, you’ll sound dumb._

“I like your ribbon.”

_Oh, good job. That was even dumber._

“Thanks.” Amarië looked equally at sea. “And don’t worry about being late, or in scrubs, it’s totally okay! Ah. Do you need to change or anything? You’re not, like, covered in…”

“Blood? Nope.” Turgon broke into a smile.  “I was just shadowing a doctor today, I didn’t even touch any patients. I swear I’m not covered in anything objectionable. So I guess if you don’t mind being seen in public with me, we can just head out?”

“Of course not! Yes, let’s go.”

“Where are we going?” They had spoken at the same time, and looked at each other in some amusement.

Turgon smacked himself in the head. “We never made a plan, did we?”

“I guess not.” Amarië looked equally sheepish. “Lunch?”

“I already ate.”

“Me too.”

“Coffee?”

“I will run into way too many people I know if we go to Cuiviénen.”

“Same.”

“Um.”

After a long pause, Turgon brightened up and said, “Oh, here’s an idea! My friends and I used to hang out by the fountain downtown. It’s really nice, and there are benches, and shade, and you can feed the pigeons…” He rummaged in his backpack. “I even have half a peanut butter sandwich we can give them.”

“That sounds good,” said Amarië with relief, and they set off.

Walking made the conversation flow more easily, as Amarië asked questions about Turgon’s work at the clinic, and Turgon asked her about dance and the coming school year.

“I think I’m going to have to cut out basketball this year, I’ve just been too injury prone, and given the choice, I’d rather keep going to dance…”

“That makes sense.”

“And this way I can keep doing choreography for the school troupe, though it’ll be sad without Elenwë.” Amarië broke off momentarily, clearly unsure if mentioning Elenwë was off-limits.

But Turgon just said, “I bet. But you’ll still see her for the dance classes you take at the studio, right?”

Once downtown, they made for the great park at the center of which was a huge white fountain, filling the air with burbles and splashes. They headed for Turgon’s favorite bench, but drew up abruptly as they saw they’d been preempted.

Two people were already on the bench, and so closely wrapped around each other it was hard, at first, to tell that it _was_ two people. They were kissing fiercely, apparently completely oblivious to the world around them. As Turgon and Amarië stared, momentarily frozen in surprise, one of the two practically pulled the other into his lap, his hands winding into long blond hair. Amarië clapped a hand to her mouth, and Turgon boggled as the figure with a mop of blond hair slid his hands under the dark-haired figure’s waistband.

“Glorfindel!” he said hoarsely, quite certain that if he didn't say anything, something generally not legal in a public park would happen.

At the sound of his voice, the two figures sprang apart at once, and Glorfindel jerked around as if suddenly remembering his surroundings. “Turgon!” He wiped a hand over his mouth as Ecthelion tugged his shirt straight self-consciously. “Ah. Hello.”

“Hi,” said Turgon, as Amarië stifled a giggle into her sleeve.

“I, uh. Ecthelion texted me right after you did,” said Glorfindel, his voice somewhat husky, and cleared his throat. “Uh. And we came here.” He gestured unnecessarily. Amarië’s shoulders were still shaking with laughter, and she half stepped behind Turgon to attempt to control herself.

“So you did.” Turgon tried to look nonchalant. “Well, we were just going to feed the pigeons. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he added belatedly. “I was just surprised.”

“Quite understandable,” said Ecthelion, speaking for the first time, his voice quite cool and composed despite the fact that his belt was still undone. “I apologize for co-opting your spot.”

“No worries,” said Turgon, as Amarië continued to laugh silently until she had to hide her face in his shoulder. “We’ll just try the other side of the park.”

“No, it’s okay,” said Glorfindel, standing and pulling Ecthelion up with him. Ecthelion finally noticed his belt and hastily refastened it. “We should be going, anyway. Find somewhere else to…” He trailed off.

“To talk,” said Ecthelion, looking at him.

“Right.” Glorfindel stared back at Ecthelion, something so hopeful and apprehensive in his expression that Turgon looked away, more embarrassed than ever. 

Glorfindel waved weakly as he and Ecthelion took their leave and Turgon finally turned to Amarië, who was bright red with suppressed laughter.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I’m sorry! I have this problem of laughing when awkward things happen, or when I’m embarrassed and don’t know how to react to something, and that was so - I didn't know what to - I am a child, I’m _sorry_.” She tried to pull herself together and wiped at her eyes. “Oh my god, are we really going to sit on this bench now? It’s sort of like staying in a bed after another couple who hasn’t changed the sheets yet.”

“Oh, gross,” said Turgon, who’d been about to sit down. “Way to put that image in my head.”

“I’m sorry!” said Amarië again, and started laughing once more.

They finally settled down with their backs to the base of the fountain and their legs stretched out in front of them as they threw torn up bits of Turgon’s sandwich to the fat-bellied pigeons. Every once in a while, Amarië would have another fit of giggles and have to stifle them into Turgon’s shoulder. Finally she left her head there, leaning against him, and he slipped an arm around her shoulders and threw the last crust to the birds.

“My fingers are covered in peanut butter,” Amarië started to say, and Turgon leaned down and kissed her.

The pigeons hopped closer, still hopeful, but Turgon and Amarië ignored them entirely as Amarië lifted her face to Turgon’s and kissed him back.

The fountain burbled, the pigeons hopped, and Turgon forgot about everything else.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Move the fuck over.”

Amras hopped off the washing machine where he’d been perched giving running commentary as Caranthir hauled two bags of laundry into the basement. He tried to peer into the hamper. “I didn’t even know you had that many clothes.”

“Well it’s been like a month.” Caranthir poured a generous amount of detergent into the washer and started stuffing clothes into it. “And I’ve got sheets and shit.”

“How long has the washer at your place been broken?”

“A month.”

“How long ‘til you guys get it fixed?”

“I dunno, Káno’s gotta call the repair guy but keeps putting it off.”

“Why don’t you do it?”

“I don’t make phone calls.”

“Why doesn’t Tyelko do it?”

“Cuz he doesn’t give a shit. He just does laundry at Oromë’s, or stops wearing clothes.”

“Irissë?”

“She has more clothes than the rest of us and hasn’t run out yet.”

“How ‘bout Curvo?”

Caranthir didn’t answer, dropping the lid of the washing machine shut and jabbing at the settings.

Amras hummed and leapt up, trying to see if he could touch the basement ceiling. “ _Ew_ , cobweb. You could prob’ly get Curvo to fix it himself. A washing machine is kinda like a robot, isn’t it?”

Caranthir grunted, hit ‘start’ and dropped his laundry basket on top of the machine as the water began to fill it.

“But it’s cool to see you here, too. You haven’t been back to Formenos in, like, months.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Yeah, Aunt Lals said you were working at some boozery?”

“Brewery and distillery.”

“Same diff.” Amras leaned in as Caranthir dropped down in the ancient couch that had been in the couch for as long as any of them had been alive. “Hey, so,” he said conspiratorially. “Since you’ve got an _in_ , think you could get us some…” He dropped his voice even lower and brought his mouth so close to Caranthir’s ear that Caranthir winced and leaned away as his brother hissed, “…some booze?”

Caranthir pushed Amras’ face away from him with a open palm. Amras sputtered and shook his head, his hair in his eyes. “Christ, kid, liquor stores exist. I don’t need to work at a brewery to get beer.”

Amras’ eyes lit up and he plopped down onto the couch next to Caranthir. “So you’ll get us something?”

“No.”

“ _Why not?”_

“Because mom and dad would fuckin’ eviscerate me.”

“No faaaiiiiirrr.” Amras groaned and slouched against the musty cushions. “Tyelko totally bought _you_ booze when you were underage!”

“Tyelko didn’t care if he got eviscerated. Also you two are the _babies_.” Caranthir smirked at Amras. “Mom and dad care more about protecting your precious innocence than they did about mine.”

“What innocence?” Amras sat up straight and crossed his arms, trying to make the muscles in his biceps look more impressive. He gave up when Caranthir rolled his eyes at him. “I’m not innocent. I got a handjob in the parking lot just last week.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yeah, I did!”

“Uh huh.”

“Okay, I didn’t.” Amras subsided again. “There was a zipper issue. But it was, like, totally going that direction.”

“Gross.” Caranthir grimaced. “You’re too young.”

“I’m sixteen!”

“You are a tiny goddamn baby.”

“How old were you?”

“How old was I what?”

“When you first…did stuff.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Moryoooooo.”

“Jesus, you are the most annoying little shit.” Caranthir shook his head and pulled out his phone. “Shut up for a while.”

“Who ya texting?”

“Telchar.”

“Ooooh. Who that.”

“My boss.”

“Boring.” Amras slithered to the floor and did a few half-hearted sit-ups while Caranthir typed on his phone. “I wanna get a six-pack before Ambarussa does, but working on it is so lame.”

“I just told you I wasn’t getting you any beer.”

“Not that kind of six-pack, dummy.” Amras poked his stomach. “Muscles.”

“Oh good, are we going to have another meathead in the family? Ask Tyelko for some of his nasty-ass protein shakes.”

“Maybe I will.”

There was a thumping on the stairs and a voice calling, “Where are you two? What are you doing? Dad says stay off the pipes, Ambarussa, he already had to repair them twice after Tyelko’s home gym thing…”

“I’m not on the pipes,” said Amras. “I’m on the floor. Moryo’s being lame.” He dragged himself back onto the couch.

Amrod stuck his head over the stair railing. “What are you guys doing?”

“Laundry.”

“Oh. That’s not interesting.” Amrod wandered over and sat down on Caranthir’s other side.

“Tell me about it. I’m so bored I’ve resorted to feats of physical improvement.” Amras sucked in his stomach and pushed out his chest.

“Better than the other shit you get up to when you’re bored. You know dad said he’d disinherit you if he caught you poking through his machine shop again.”

“Snooping is the only thing to do around here, dude.”

“I prefer spying to snooping, but you have too short an attention span in general, Maitimo always said so. Anyway,” Amrod propped his hand on his chin and gave Caranthir a huge, fake smile. “So Moryo, I hear you’ve been working at this distillery place…”

“Save it,” said Caranthir. “Thing One already tried.”

“Yeah, no dice on that front.” Amras let his stomach pooch out again and curled up against Caranthir’s side.

“If anyone’s Thing One, it’s me,” said Amrod placidly, as Amras tied knots in the string of Caranthir’s hoodie. “I was born first. Ambarussa can be Thing Two.”

“Fuck you, I am so much more mature than you are.” Amras dropped Caranthir’s sweatshirt ties and glowered.

“But which of us has to retake Algebra II? Algebra II, time two, for _Thing Two…_ ”

“Shut up, you dick!”

They hit at each other over Caranthir’s lap until he put his knees up to block them and simultaneously drove his elbows into their ribs. “Jesus, I thought it would be more laidback to come home for the weekend. Knock it off.”

“Ouch.”

The twins collapsed onto him, and Caranthir groaned. “I should never come home.”

“Hah.” All three of them jumped and looked up. Nerdanel was standing behind them, hands on hips. She grinned at Caranthir. “I could have told you that. Except that I’m glad you came home because I miss your sweet face, and because when you leave I’m coming with you. I need a break from this crowd.”

“Ouch,” said Amrod. “Just stab us in the heart, mom.”

Nerdanel perched on the back of the couch and patted Caranthir on the head, ignoring Amrod and Amras’ looks of over exaggerated offense. “Prepare your brothers for a new roommate, I’ll take Maitimo’s old room.”

“You can’t,” said Caranthir automatically. “Irissë’s th – ” He broke off, biting his tongue. Aredhel and Celegorm had made the rest of the house agree not to let Fëanor know that an unauthorized housemate had moved in.

Nerdanel looked triumphant. “I knew I could get you to admit it! Too easy.”

“What are you talking about? Admit what?” Caranthir attempted baffled innocence, but Nerdanel just grinned.

“Can’t fool me, sweet potato. Anyway, I already knew, so stop looking so alarmed. I won’t boot Irissë, I’ll just take your room instead, and you can stay here with the three ruffians I live with.”

“Aww, mom, you love us.”

Amrod and Amras abandoned Caranthir to climb on their mother, and she toppled off the couch in a mass of waving arms. “Help! Too many chickens.”

“You’ll get no help from me,” said Caranthir, glancing at his phone again. Telchar had just texted him back, and he couldn’t hold back a half smile. “You just said you were evicting me.”

“Why is the entire household in the basement?” Fëanor came down the stairs. “We have such a nice place, remodeled family room and everything, and you’re all crowded onto a mildewed couch under exposed pipes. It’s enough to make one give up on home improvement. How’s the laundry going, Moryo? Sisyphean?”

“Pretty much.” Caranthir rolled off the couch and ambled over to his father. “I brought you some rum from work, by the way.”

“Then let’s go upstairs and have a glass while these ruffians embarrass themselves, shall we? And while we’re at it, I’d love to pick your brain about the kind of technology the Blue Hills group is using, I’ve always been interested…”

 

 

* * *

 

It was deep afternoon, the late summer air warm and heavy on their skin. Golden light was filtering in through a dense forest canopy wrought with birdsong, and the rush of a nearby stream mingled with the scolding of squirrels. It was almost improbably idyllic, and Celegorm was looking around wide-eyed, trailing a ways behind Oromë as he tried to take in everything at once. 

“I can’t believe I’ve never been here before.” 

“I can.” Oromë checked a trail marker and nodded towards the left fork. “Your father has never been a fan of Manwë, even when it comes to his philanthropic ventures. So he’d hardly bring his sons to the Súlimo Foundation Wilderness Preserve, would he?”

“Yeah, guess not.” Celegorm was still staring around, delighted. “How is it so quiet? I can’t even hear the road…”

“It won’t be quiet for long.”

They rounded a bend, and Celegorm immediately saw what Oromë meant. There was an enclosure up ahead, just off the trail, and on a railing was perched a massive golden eagle. It saw them coming and let out an ear-splitting cry.

“ _Wow.”_ Celegorm stopped dead.

Oromë kept walking.  “Thorondor is still going strong, I see.”

“Who’s – ”

“The eagle. Manwë rescued him years ago, and by the time he was back to full strength, he was too comfortable around humans to return to the wild. But most of the birds here will be rehabilitated and then re-introduced to their natural habitat.”

Past Thorondor’s enclosure were dozens more, and Celegorm slowly took them all in. Owls and hawks and more eagles, most of them ignoring their visitors, and one great scabby-headed vulture, who blinked at them in some curiosity.

“This is the part of the preserve that Manwë likes the best, of course,” Oromë was saying, as Celegorm drifted around the pens in a kind of happy fugue. “The Raptor Rehabilitation Center. But when we first talked about setting aside this tract of wilderness, I was more concerned for – ”

“Wait,” said Celegorm, catching up with Oromë, “you were involved in this? How? How well do you know Manwë?” The name came to his tongue with some difficulty; it was so odd for him to hear and speak the name without hatred after the years of family rancor following his father’s trial. 

 _The Honorable Judge Súlimo_ , he could still hear his father saying bitterly,  _Infallible, intractable, and insufferable as ever._  

 _It’s because of him,_  Curufin would say sometimes _,_ long after Fëanor had stopped bringing it up _, it’s because of HIM, that judge, that Manwë, that father had to stop his work. If it wasn’t for him we might still have -_

Celegorm tried to shake free of the memories, but despite his determination not to care about Fëanor anymore, he couldn’t help a surge of dislike at the name. He fought the reflex, and instead listened to what Oromë was saying. 

“He and I met while I was still traveling with the team – he sponsored a charity event we participated in – and became friends. We bonded over a shared love of the outdoors, and a mind for conservation. There was even a period where I thought I’d retire from rugby and go into forest management -an idea he supported - but fate had other plans, I suppose.” Oromë ran a hand absently over the trunk of a tree as they kept walking down the path. “At any rate, I talked him into buying and preserving this wilderness area, and while other philanthropies dominate his time now that he’s semi-retired from the bench, he has always had a soft spot for birds and birding, and the raptors are his particular favorites. My favorites, on the other hand…”

Celegorm gasped audibly as they came in sight of several great grey figures loping through the trees in another enclosure, and Oromë grinned at the look on his face. “Say hello to the wolves of the northeast.”

For the next several hours, Celegorm barely spoke, completely fixated on the animals being rehabilitated at the center: some being readied for reintroduction, but many of them permanent residents rescued from zoos or private collections. He asked avid questions, most of which Oromë could answer. The two of them crouched still enough next to the fence that one wolf came up to investigate while Oromë murmured low words to it and Celegorm momentarily stopped breathing in awe as the wolf sniffed him through the fence.

“This is like paradise,” he said at last. They got to their feet, and Oromë slipped his arm around Celegorm’s waist as they walked off, back towards the birds of prey. Celegorm leaned into him, winding an arm around him in turn. “This is the best place I’ve ever been. Damn, I’d kill to work somewhere like this.”

“You could, you know,” said Oromë, and when Celegorm looked at him, surprised, Oromë smiled. “Why do you think I brought you here?”

 

 


	64. The unhidden heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. So this chapter is 2k words longer than it was supposed to be, probably longer than it should be, but hey, apparently I’m a verbose motherfucker.  
> 1\. Warnings: relationship talk, sexuality talk, an explicitly described sexual act, and our first Maia.  
> 2\. I accidentally fell into a hole called the Uniform Code while researching Marine stuff, and now know so much about what Ecthelion is wearing and what he’s not allowed to do while wearing it that I can tell you, 100%, that he’s going to get court martialed.  
> 3\. [ETA] Dang, I meant to post this when the chapter went up! Oops. Anyway, for anyone who's interested and didn't catch it on Tumblr, I wrote [a short coda](http://imindhowwelayinjune.tumblr.com/post/129776287076/id-like-to-know-what-happened-the-morning-after) to the Chapter 58 party describing the morning after in Casa Feanorion. And then the anon who prompted me for it made me [an AMAZING floorplan](http://imindhowwelayinjune.tumblr.com/post/130203707648/plan-of-casa-f%C3%ABanorion-based-on-your-drawing-to) of the house based on a rough sketch I did ages ago. Check 'em out.

Curufin was standing in front of the whiteboard he’d hung on one wall, pondering the grid he’d mapped out on it, when Finrod came in.

“Hello.”

“Hm.” Curufin didn’t look over, but jerked his head in Finrod’s direction in acknowledgement. He continued to scan down the columns of writing on the board, his lips moving silently as he read.

Finrod set down his bag and came up behind Curufin. He laid his fingers on Curufin’s shoulder, a silent query, and when Curufin nodded absently, he drew close, resting his chin on Curufin’s shoulder and threading his arms around Curufin’s waist. He took in the densely covered whiteboard. “Planning for the school year?”

“Mm. Yes.”

“Taking it easy this semester, are you?”

Curufin opened his mouth to articulate an affronted protest, but then he glanced over and saw the sparkle in Finrod’s eyes. “If you call a six class course-load ‘taking it easy’, then yes, yes I am.”

“So scholastically unambitious,” mused Finrod. He tightened his arms around Curufin’s waist and nuzzled at his ear. “Can I hire you as my TA? I could use someone with this level of organization.”

“A TA for a TA,” said Curufin, relaxing slightly into Finrod’s arms. “What a distinguished prospect.”

“I know,” Finrod said. “And I wouldn’t even pay you.”

“You certainly know how to sell a man on a position, Felagund,” said Curufin, half turning, and Finrod smiled.

“That’s what I’ve heard.”

Curufin rolled his eyes and put his arms around Finrod’s neck. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Finrod’s, effectively stifling Finrod’s pleased smile, and Finrod kissed him back enthusiastically.

When they broke apart, Finrod said, “I missed you.”

“It has not been that long.”

“Long enough for me to miss you.”

“Needy, are you?”

“Terribly.” But Finrod didn’t seem at all put out, and simply kissed Curufin again, until Curufin nudged him towards the bed. They stretched out next to each other; Finrod lay belly down on the bedspread with his arms folded over Curufin’s chest and his chin resting on his arms as he regarded Curufin with bright blue eyes. Curufin propped his head up against the pillows, his knees up, and let his hands settle against Finrod’s elbows.

“So.”

“So.”

“School starts soon.”

“It does.” Curufin thought of the unwritten lists he kept, in addition to the ones scrawled on his whiteboard, and one thing in particular he had told himself to remember. “I wanted to talk to you about that.”

“Oh?”

“You can tell already my schedule is going to be full and my days busy. I am not going to have the same kind of flexibility I’ve had this summer. I’m not going to have much in the way of free time.”

“I understand. I anticipated that. I’ll be fairly busy as well – Olórin expects me to start writing this semester, in addition to my responsibilities to the department.” Finrod rolled his eyes, half at Olórin and half at himself. “So I imagine my own free time will be at rather a premium.”

“Right. I just wanted to…warn you that I won’t be as available. I will have a lot of work.”

“I absolutely understand, Curvo. I know you need to prioritize your work.”

“Yes.” Curufin looked at him, and then surprised them both by saying, “But I don’t want to deprioritize _you_.”

Finrod stared at him. “Oh.” There was something so profoundly touched and surprised in his tone that Curufin felt embarrassed. He started to say something, but Finrod rested his chin on his arms again and blinked slowly at him. “You don’t have to deprioritize me, but I certainly don’t want you to feel stressed and torn between work you need to do and not wanting me to feel neglected.” He thought a moment. “But I think with a schedule as organized as yours, we can make something that works for both of us. Maybe have some scheduled time together.”

“Scheduled time?” Curufin glanced at his lists.

“Yes. At least once a week, maybe more if time allows. Once we have a sense of our schedules, we can see if a weekend day works, or a weeknight, or what. But I think aiming to spend at least a regular hour together, even in the midst of whatever else, will be good.” Finrod smiled. “I know it will certainly be beneficial to me.”

“Scheduled time,” said Curufin slowly. It appealed to him, which historically would mean it wouldn’t appeal to others. “Do people do that?”

“Probably. But even if they don’t, do either of us care if it’s what people do or not?”

“No. But are you sure you don’t find that too…cold?” It was a familiar word to Curufin.

“Not at all, I think it makes sense. We each have obligations in addition to wanting to spend time together, and I think planning out structured ways to balance responsibility with pleasure can be a very effective way to find that balance.”

“Huh.” Curufin was finding himself re-evaluating certain of his assumptions about Finrod. “Well, then. I suppose we shall coordinate our schedules and find a time that works for us both once the semester starts.”

“I suppose we shall.” Finrod’s eyes were sparkling again.

Curufin flicked down to another item in his mental list and took a deep breath. “There’s another thing I wanted to discuss.” His tone must have conveyed something to Finrod, because Finrod immediately turned attentive and serious.

“What’s that?”

“It is likewise about…us.” Curufin hated the turn of phrase, but tried not to let his irritation and discomfort rise. He’d thought this through; he knew how to say it; he’d even written it down at one point. “I wished to express my appreciation for how you have accommodated me; you have been very considerate in our physical interactions. But I have reviewed these experiences and I realize that all concessions have been on your end, rather than mine. I do not wish to find myself beholden to you.”

Finrod pushed himself up onto his knees. He looked a little stricken, and took Curufin’s hands in his. “Curvo. I don’t do any of this because I am trying to chalk up favors you owe me. I do it because I want to do it, and because I want you to be as comfortable and secure as possible. That is what makes me happy, and I am only interested in doing things that make you happy as well. Relationships should not be about feeling _beholden_.”

“But I do. Feel it, I mean.” Curufin looked at his fingers in Finrod’s hands. “Maybe that’s the wrong word. It is more that I feel there’s an imbalance, and it does not seem fair or right – one should not give more than the other, correct? Listen, I can…I can try other things. I don’t want you to be the only one making compromises.”

As Finrod opened his mouth, still looking concerned, Curufin pushed on resolutely. “I have been thinking about what I do and don’t want to do, and I think maybe I’d be open to doing more.” It was less polished than how he’d rehearsed it, and he wasn’t used to talking so freely to anyone who wasn’t Celegorm, and certainly not on such a topic, but he plunged on anyway. “There are…there are things I don’t want to try, but there are things I might, and I wanted to ask you about what…you might be interested in.” To his intense frustration, he felt himself blushing.

“You want to know what I’d be interested in doing, physically?” asked Finrod. He was still holding Curufin’s hands, and Curufin sat up so that they were closer together.

“Yes.” He was holding his breath, he realized. “If you told me some of what you want, I think I could try it. Depending.”

Finrod reached out one hand and stroked his cheek lightly, fingertips lingering gently on the faint white scar under his eye. “I quite like kissing you,” he said, softly. “I like touching you, too, very much. There is one thing…one thing I have thought about, that I would enjoy, if you were amenable.”

Curufin shivered involuntarily, more anxious than he’d admit. “What’s that?”

“I would like to go down on you.” Finrod’s voice was very clear, his gaze very steady, and he smiled as Curufin blinked at him in surprise. He had been expecting Finrod to ask for Curufin to perform some act on him; this was unexpected.

“On _me_. You want to… With your _mouth_ , you mean?”

“Yes.”

 _“Why?”_ Curufin couldn’t stop the question.

Finrod didn’t seem to mind the appalled look on his face. “Because I think you might enjoy it. And I’ll enjoy watching you enjoy it.”

 _“How?”_ Curufin felt, once again, utterly at sea. He could no more imagine the appeal of putting someone else’s genitals in his mouth than he could imagine what it would be like to have four legs. “What could you possibly get from that?”

Finrod shrugged. “I like being able to make you feel good. Watching you, feeling you react – it turns me on. You’re very sexy when you’re turned on.”

Curufin opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“You’re sexy all the time, of course, but it is very, very hot watching you respond to the things I am doing.” A faint flush rose in Finrod’s cheeks but he continued evenly. “Sex is a thing that can feel very good, and I like giving those good feelings to you, because you….deserve to feel good. Because you are someone I care about, very deeply, and you deserve good things, good feelings, and I like providing them. And it is very gratifying, knowing that I am doing something that gives you pleasure.”

“I have never heard of someone orgasming from _gratification_.”

“No,” agreed Finrod, “I will likely orgasm from stroking myself as I suck you off.”

Curufin gaped at him. He could find absolutely no words to respond to this.

Finrod smiled crookedly. “Was that last bit too much?”

Curufin cleared his throat. “Ah, no. Just not what I expected.” He knit his hands together before him. “So you would. You would go down on me. And touch yourself. You don’t mind that I can’t…” He bit the inside of his cheek, hating those two words. “…that I can’t do it back to you?”

Finrod shook his head. “I don’t mind that at all, Curvo.” He bent forward and cupped Curufin’s face between his hands. “And I won’t even mind if you tell me you don’t want to do this, either. I entirely understand that some things that I find pleasurable might not feel that way to you, and I will not be offended if you don’t want me to do this at all.”

“No,” said Curufin honestly. “No, we can do it.” It was not something he would have ever considered on his own, but he found he liked the idea of doing something for Finrod. He hadn’t spent much time thinking about relationships, but he knew something about balance, and the idea of meeting Finrod somewhere in the middle appealed to him. And he couldn’t deny the whole thing was intriguing, in a slightly abstract way. “I am curious.”   

Finrod laughed, warm and tender at the same time. “It is one of the things I love about you,” he said, and kissed Curufin before Curufin could draw in a breath and a question about whether he’d heard Finrod correctly, “your curiosity.”

Curufin did not like putting things off; he had never been accused of being a procrastinator. So he pulled Finrod down on top of him, kissing him back, and Finrod settled easily above him, kissing his lips, his throat, the exposed lines of his collar bone.

“You know, I wasn’t suggesting that we have to do this now,” Finrod murmured into his neck. “We don’t have to rush in.”

“Why not now?”

“If you’re sure…”

“I am.”

“Well, then.” Finrod slowly slid down Curufin’s body, pushing up his shirt to lay a gentle kiss to the planes of Curufin’s belly, and lower, brushing against the waistband of his jeans. “How is this?” he murmured. “Too fast?”

Curufin shook his head. “No.” He could feel his body responding to Finrod’s touches, and though his primary emotion was still curiosity and some apprehension, he decided to let his body take the lead in this. “You can go further.”

Finrod unbuttoned Curufin’s jeans and slid them slowly over his hips, watching his exposed skin with an expression in his eyes that Curufin couldn’t quite place. He rather thought it was something like reverence, a notion that both shocked and warmed him. Finrod laid more kisses to the points of Curufin’s hips, sliding his shorts down along with his jeans, and Curufin pulled in a sharp breath and said, “Just do it already.”

Finrod looked up at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“You can tell me to stop anytime,” Finrod said, by now familiar words. “There’s no point at which we can’t go back.”

“Yes, fine,” said Curufin, growing impatient. “Now just – _do_ whatever you’re going to do.”

Finrod didn’t answer, but pulled Curufin’s cock free of his shorts and ran his hand over it. Curufin wasn’t hard yet, but Finrod’s hand had him there quickly, and he closed his eyes, trying to distance himself from the sight of his pleasure in Finrod’s hands. The familiar distaste was rising. _How can he want to do this to me? How can he find this part of me desirable?_

As if hearing his thoughts, Finrod whispered, “You are beautiful, Curvo, ” and then took the head of his cock between his lips.

It was such an intense sensation, such an overwhelming feeling, that Curufin immediately knotted a hand in Finrod’s hair, not sure if he was going to beg him to stop or embarrass himself by coming immediately. Finrod stilled, and let his lips part around Curufin’s cock. He slid his tongue over the slit, making Curufin’s hips jerk, then pulled back and said, “Okay?”

Curufin panted a moment, not releasing Finrod’s hair from his grasp, and then said, “Okay.”

He could feel Finrod’s breath at the base of his cock, Finrod’s fingers still wrapped around him as he drew his mouth up and down Curufin’s length. His tongue pressed against the underside of Curufin’s cock before flicking up to the tip, and Curufin bit his lip at the surge of pleasure. There was still the usual detached string of questions running through his mind – _Is this sanitary? What if he has a cold? Could that be transferred through oral sex? No, that’s stupid. Is it? What’s he thinking as he does this? Does he really like it? –_ but there was no fear. Despite the alien sensation, he was feeling, he realized, very nearly at ease.

Safe.

Finrod was still watching him as he moved between Curufin’s legs, and Curufin could see a distinct flush on his cheeks. He ran his fingers more gently through Finrod’s hair and Finrod closed his eyes and took a breath through his nose. Curufin swallowed hard as Finrod hollowed his cheeks and took him deeper, Curufin’s cock brushing against the back of his throat. Curufin closed his own eyes, a little overwhelmed, and felt Finrod pull back.

“How are you doing?” Finrod’s voice was husky, but his hand on Curufin’s waist was gentle. His fingers rubbed soothing circles on Curufin’s hipbone, and Curufin opened his eyes.

“I’m doing fine.” He bit his lips, trying not to laugh at the whole scenario, which suddenly struck him as utterly ridiculous. _Who came up with the concept for this act? Who first thought this was a good idea? What an absurdity._

Finrod cocked his head. “What are you thinking about?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“If you say so. Would you like me to continue?”

“Why not?” Curufin lay back, Finrod’s hair slipping through his fingers. He felt bold, almost reckless.

“And if I…” There was a definite flush on Finrod’s cheekbones, though his voice was even. “You won’t mind if I touch myself?”

“No.” Curufin blinked. “You certainly don’t give me much work to do,” he added wryly, as Finrod started stroking him again with one hand as he undid his own jeans with the other. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Finrod smiled brilliantly at him, then took Curufin into his mouth and himself in hand at the same time, and Curufin closed his eyes.

The pleasure built quickly after that, and Curufin turned his head to the side, stuffing his hand into his mouth to stifle the sounds he couldn’t keep from making. He thought of how thin the walls were, and how humiliated he’d be to have his brothers overhear him, and bit his knuckles to stay quiet, so hard that he drew blood.

“It’s okay, Curvo,” Finrod whispered, drawing back for a moment. “It’s okay, you can relax, it’s just me and you.”

Curufin nodded mutely, and let himself gasp aloud as Finrod’s mouth closed around him once more.

When he came, he felt almost lightheaded, the pleasure more overwhelming than anything he’d experienced before, and with an immediate increase in sensitivity that made him jerk away. As his head cleared a little, he realized with sudden dismay the implications of his orgasm; he must have spilled himself down Finrod’s throat. He half sat up, a horrified apology on his lips, but Finrod was already wiping his mouth, apparently untroubled, and pressing a kiss to the inside of Curufin’s thigh. “Was that good?”

“Y – yes.” Curufin dropped back on his elbows, surprised. “Yes, it was.” He felt Finrod’s smile against his skin.

“I’m glad.” Finrod’s hand was still moving slowly between his own legs, and Curufin lay back on the pillows, staring through half-lidded eyes at the ceiling as he listened to Finrod’s breathing quicken. He could tell when Finrod came, because he gave a gasp and a swallowed moan, tucking his face against Curufin’s hip.

Shortly thereafter, he pulled himself up on the bed at Curufin’s side, asking soft questions, checking in. Curufin nodded, feeling too languorous to say much, and glad that Finrod didn’t try to kiss him; he wondered if it would be asking too much to suggest Finrod brush his teeth first. Finrod lay down next to him, leaving some space between their bodies, and gave a long, full-body stretch, happy and content as a lazy cat.

“Thank you,” he said, and, “Are you glad we tried it?”

Curufin thought about it, and nodded. Then he rolled over on his side to look at Finrod, and tapped suddenly businesslike fingers on the quilt. There was one last item on his list. “You didn’t tell me about Turgon and Amarië. And how you are feeling about that.”

Finrod looked startled at this abrupt segue. “No, I didn’t.”

“You should tell me now. If you want to,” he added, belatedly borrowing some of Finrod’s vocabulary.

“Would you like me to?”

“I think,” said Curufin, and he was once again running through his lists, “Processing conflicting emotions about friends and ex-girlfriends dating… Yes, I think it is one of those things that one talks about. You know, in a relationship.”

Finrod was smiling at him. “You said _relationship_.”

Curufin winced. “Don’t read too much into it.”

“Of course not.”

“Don’t use that tone on me either.”

“ _Never_.”

Curufin rolled his eyes. “Are you like this to your students? You are the most insufferable creature, it’s honestly unbearable.”

“I do wonder how you bear me,” said Finrod musingly, and laughed as Curufin muttered, “I do, too.”

But he didn’t, not really.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Do you have pillow fights in your underwear?”

_“What?”_

“Like frolicking around, batting each other with pillows and giggling. Do you do that?”

“You mean in the barracks?”

“Yes.”

“I saw one of my fellow recruits get a concussion when someone threw a boot at his head once. He wasn’t in his underwear, I don’t think.” Ecthelion thought for a moment. “Is it possible you are confusing stereotypes about the Marines with stereotypes about, say, sorority sisters?”

“It’s possible.” Ríanellë hummed and linked her arm through his. “On the other hand, I could be being remarkably astute about what young men get up to when they’re not occupied with shooting things.”

Ecthelion shifted his bag onto his other shoulder. “I’m getting the impression you don’t take me very seriously.”

“You take yourself seriously enough for two, so I’m going to balance it out. It’s my job.”

Ecthelion shook his head, but he was smiling. “It does fit with your role as my bratty little sister.”

“I am _six minutes_ younger than you. Get off that high horse.”

They were on the block where the bus station was now, and Ríanellë slowed slightly, dragging on Ecthelion’s arm. Ecthelion looked at her, some sadness in his eyes. “Ría…”

“Don’t walk so fast.”

“I don’t want to go anymore than you do, but my bus leaves in 15 minutes.”

“At 10:30, right?”

“Yes.” Ecthelion fumbled in the pocket of his uniform. “Look, you wrote it down for me. It’s the 10:30am bus from gate seven.”

“No.”

“No?”

Ríanellë whistled a jaunty tune. “It’s actually at 11:45am.”

_“What?”_

Ríanellë smiled cherubically. “I lied to you about the schedule. You have an hour and a half before your bus leaves.”

“Ría!” Ecthelion threw his hands into the air. “If we have an hour and a half, what are we doing here so early?”

“Hey.” A figure rose from the bench where he’d been waiting, his hands in his pockets. Ecthelion looked up, saw golden hair and bare arms, and stopped talking so abruptly it was like he’d been muted.

“I thought you could use a little time,” said Ríanellë softly, slipping her arm free of Ecthelion’s. “But I know Mama and Baba wanted to be with you right up to when you had to leave, so I…fudged the schedule a little. And then gave Glorfindel a call.”

Glorfindel was watching Ecthelion, unable to take his eyes from Ecthelion’s face, but he smiled in Ríanellë’s direction and said, “Thank you for that, Ríanellë."

“Yes,” said Ecthelion, his bag slipping slightly down his arm. “Thank you, Ríanellë.”

Ecthelion and Ríanellë hugged each other one last time, Ríanellë blinking rapidly, her eyes bright. “Keep yourself in one piece for us,” she whispered into his shoulder.

“I will try. And I’ll write,” Ecthelion promised. “And I can Skype mom and dad once a week – maybe you can come over for that?”

“Only if you show footage of your friends in their underwear having pillow fights.”

Glorfindel chuckled, and Ecthelion said, “Seriously, Ría, I am not even letting my bunkmates know I have a sister, much less giving them a chance to show off for you.”

“Spoilsport.” Ríanellë hugged Ecthelion fiercely one more time, then let him go and nodded at Glorfindel. “I leave him in your capable hands. I mean, I assume.”

“Ría,” muttered Ecthelion, embarrassed.

“Yes.” Glorfindel nodded back. “And hey, I’ll be in touch, okay?”

“Sounds good.” Ríanellë swallowed once, then waved to them both and set off down the street, her head intentionally high, her steps brisk. She was whistling again, a light tune that nevertheless carried an air of melancholy.

Ecthelion watched her go, looking back only when he felt a hand slip into his and squeeze his fingers gently.

“Quite the sister you’ve got there.”

“I know.”

“I’m glad she did this,” said Glorfindel. “I was starting to think you’d head back without us ever getting a real chance to talk.”

“We talked in the park, after we saw Turgon and Amarië…”

“We talked for five minutes and then started hooking up again.”

Ecthelion looked at his shoes. “I’m sorry. I seem to be bad at…communicating.”

“You communicated the important thing.” Glorfindel pulled Ecthelion around the corner of the bus station, and sat them down on a bench. “If you hadn’t said what you did ten days ago, right now I’d be cheerfully telling my best friend goodbye again and pretending that I didn’t wish he was more.”

“I can’t believe you never said anything all those years,” said Ecthelion softly. “So many years we could have…”

“But would you have wanted to? Did you even think about me like that until just recently?”

Ecthelion hesitated. “I don’t know.”

“Right. And if you hadn’t, I would have lost you as a friend.”

“No, you wouldn’t have!” Ecthelion held Glorfindel’s hand tighter. “I wouldn’t have stopped being your friend, I never would have – ”

“I couldn’t take the risk,” said Glorfindel, and lifted Ecthelion’s hand to his mouth. He kissed his knuckles, a soft brush of lips, and lowered his hand again. “I didn’t care that I couldn’t have you as more than a friend as long as I could have you in my life, somehow. That’s what mattered to me.”

“And what am I now?” Ecthelion’s voice was very low. “If I am more than your friend?”

Glorfindel looked a little flustered. “Dammit, Thel, that was going to be _my_ question. Way to put me on the spot.”

“You said before that we were still friends. Just with…something else added.”

“We _are_ still friends,” said Glorfindel. “But – ”

“But?”

“I need…I don’t need labels,” said Glorfindel in a rush. “I just need to know that we can keep figuring this out, keep trying this. And that…that as we figure things out, neither of us will…end up with someone else?”

Ecthelion laughed. “Who on earth would I end up with?”

“I don’t know.” Despite the real anxiety in his voice, Glorfindel was grinning, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “But I know those USMC guys are _hot,_ so I could understand if you were tempted - ”

“Oh, for god’s sake.” Ecthelion leant forward and caught Glorfindel’s lips in a kiss.

Glorfindel kissed him back with his usual enthusiasm, but when Ecthelion moved his head to mouth at Glorfindel’s neck, Glorfindel pulled back. “Ah. You haven’t actually responded, though.”

“To what?” Ecthelion was distracted; Glorfindel smelled almost illegally good, and it was fogging his brain.

“While we’re figuring this out, you won’t end up with someone else?” Glorfindel said it evenly, but his cheeks were turning red.

“Oh! No, of course not.” Ecthelion brushed a loop of hair behind Glorfindel’s ear, his fingers lingering on the fine golden strands.

“Okay, good.” Glorfindel grinned again, looking relieved. “Same here, obviously. God damn it, I wish you weren’t leaving again though. What timing, right?”

“We can text and write,” said Ecthelion, sliding closer to Glorfindel and putting an arm around his waist. “And Skype. So I can see you.” His voice went low, and he bent his head so that his lips brushed Glorfindel’s shoulder.

Glorfindel shivered. “Yeah, I’m not about to give up seeing you in fatigues.”

“I can accommodate you there.”

They sat together for the remaining 45 minutes they had until Ecthelion’s bus arrived, tucked away on a bench just out of sight; talking some and kissing more, and Ecthelion never once let go of his grip on Glorfindel’s waist. Glorfindel was laughing at him, leaning his head against Ecthelion’s, murmuring jokes and trying to make Ecthelion smile. At one point Glorfindel’s hand slid up Ecthelion’s thigh and then hesitated as Ecthelion caught his breath and looked quickly around. The bus station was quiet but not entirely empty.

“We shouldn’t,” he said quietly, though he had to shift against the uncomfortable tightness of his pants. Not only would it be far too easy to get caught, but if they got interrupted, it would be far more frustrating to have to stop than to never start.

“You’re right,” said Glorfindel, and his fingers squeezed Ecthelion’s thigh for a moment before letting him go. “Not the place, eh?” His voice was jovial enough, but Ecthelion ached at the flicker of disappointment in his eyes.

“Against the uniform code,” said Ecthelion, trying for levity, even as he remembered all the things they’d been told _not_ to do while in uniform, and he started counting the number of violations he'd accrued. “They definitely told us no below waist fraternization while in uniform. Or something.” In fact, they had been told no PDA at all while in uniform, but he couldn’t see anyone around just now, and decided to subtly stretch his definition of ‘not-public’. With his luck, he’d be court martialed anyway for the next time he couldn’t resist pinning Glorfindel to an alley wall.

“It’s enough just to have some extra time with you, honestly, Thel.”

But even the extra time was nowhere near enough. Ecthelion’s watch beeped mindfully, and on cue, a bus lumbered into the station. Determined not to make a scene, Ecthelion got immediately to his feet and slung his bag over his shoulder once again, smoothing down his clothes and trying to pull himself together. He was already squaring his shoulders and smoothing out his expression when a hand caught his wrist.

“Are you going to go, just like that?” Glorfindel’s voice was mild, but there was a note of reproach in it, and Ecthelion turned back at once, remorseful.

“I – ” he began, but Glorfindel was already pulling him into a kiss, his hands strong on Ecthelion’s lapels.

“You don’t get to leave without a proper goodbye,” he said quietly, pulling back just far enough so that he could speak the words against Ecthelion’s lips. “Even if you are already wearing your soldier face.”

“My – ”

Glorfindel kissed him again, and Ecthelion allowed himself to kiss him back, letting his hands sink into Glorfindel’s hair one last time.

“I don’t have a ‘soldier face’,” he whispered, tucking his face against Glorfindel’s neck and breathing him in.

“Like hell you don’t.” Glorfindel was grinning, but his fingers had knotted painfully hard in the back of Ecthelion’s uniform. “Dude, you’ve had one since before you enlisted.”

“If you say so, _dude_.”

Ecthelion felt Glorfindel’s shoulders shake with faint laughter, and raised his head reluctantly, Glorfindel’s grip on him loosening. “I’ll write,” he said, and touched his fingers to Glorfindel’s lips in brief farewell. Then, knowing he had to pull away quickly, lest he not manage it at all, he strode off towards the bus.

 

* * *

 

Glorfindel stayed where he was sitting, watching until Ecthelion’s bus pulled away.

He drew in a deep breath and tried to rouse himself to leave the bench, but couldn’t quite summon the will. All the energy had gone out of him with Ecthelion’s departure, his euphoria at seeing Ecthelion finally look at him like that, touch him like that – finally acknowledging him in the way he’d so longed for – starting to dissipate. The joy was now turning leaden and throbbingly painful in his chest. For all his delight that _this_ had finally happened, he couldn’t stop the flickering resentment at the timing.

_How is this fair?_

He was distracted as another bus pulled into the depot, this one arriving from the airport, and it started to slowly disgorge its occupants. Watching listlessly without taking much in, his attention was caught as he heard a sudden exclamation of delight. A small figure with honey-colored hair had gotten off the bus and retrieved a suitcase almost as big as herself. Pulling her gargantuan luggage, a joyful whoop from somewhere Glorfindel couldn’t see had made her start up, break into a smile, and begin to run full out down the sidewalk. At some point, she abandoned her bag entirely, and Glorfindel turned in his seat to watch her throw herself into the arms of a waiting figure by the ticket booth.

Recognition dawning, Glorfindel grinned as he watched Aredhel swing Elenwë around, laughing and covering Elenwë’s face with kisses.

“You’re back, El, you’re back!”

“Yes, yes, yes, oh my god, Ireth, I can't breathe with you squeezing me like - no, don't let go.”

“I missed you so _much_ , being without you is the worst thing, the worst.”

“I’m here now!”

Glorfindel ducked his head, trying not to eavesdrop as Elenwë whispered things into Aredhel’s ear and Aredhel clung onto her, still laughing, even though tears were wet on her cheeks. Eventually they broke apart and walked back to Elenwë’s abandoned bag, still holding hands.

Glorfindel smiled, despite the ache in his own chest, and pulled out his phone _._ He flicked through his contacts until he found Celegorm.

_I see your cousin got her gf back today?_

_Ohshit, yeah, haha, she’s gonna be pumped! Howd u see em?_

_I’m at the bus station._

_ahhhh seeing off Ecthelion, huh?_

_yeah._

Glrofindel swallowed a sudden lump in his throat, shaking his head impatiently. _This is still better than it was._

_hey, do you want to go for a run or something? I’ve got some steam to burn off._

_I bet u do. But I cant actually, I am literally about to go in for my first job interview in over a year soooo_

_HEY holy shit dude, good luck! Beast ‘em ;)_

_I’ll do my best bro. ttyl_

Glorfindel looked up; Aredhel and Elenwë were still standing not far away.

“Where should I load up this monster?” Elenwë was saying, gesturing to her bag.

“Oh. Ummm…” Aredhel scratched her head.

“What?”

“I totally forgot that you’d have baggage. I just walked here?”

“Ireth!” Elenwë threw up her hands, even though she was still smiling. “You didn’t bring a car? This thing weighs as much as I do, I’m not going to be able drag it all the way home.”

“I’ll help!”

“It’s _miles_ to my place!”

“Hey, you girls need a lift?” They both looked up, and Glorfindel gave a smile and a wave. “Howdy. Sorry for eavesdropping, but I happen to have my truck in the parking garage across the way. Need a ride across town?”

Aredhel and Elenwë brightened up at once. “No kidding?”

“That would be _great_.”

Out on the street, the bag thrown into the back of Glorfindel’s pickup, they squeezed into the cab of his truck, Elenwë on Aredhel’s lap.

“There’s room on the seat,” Glorfindel pointed out, but Elenwë just put her arms around Aredhel’s neck and said, “Oh no, I’m comfortable like this.”

“Glorfindel to the rescue again,” said Aredhel happily, and Glorfindel started the engine.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Celegorm thumbed his phone off and shoved it into his pocket as someone came out of the office and beckoned to him. He ran a nervous finger under his collar, trying to resist the urge to push his sleeves up. His clothes were making him itch, but he was glad he’d gotten the haircut and bothered with the button-up shirt. It was a little unnerving how much he found himself wanting this, and how badly he wanted to make a good impression.

"I'm not used to feeling like this when it doesn't involve wanting to fuck someone," he'd said to Oromë that morning, peeved, and Oromë had laughed.

He’d spent the past week working on his resume and cover letter; sending iterations back and forth to Curufin for proofing, and rehearsing interview questions with Oromë before almost reverentially emailing his application in. And then he’d been totally taken aback by the fact that the Wilderness Preserve had gotten in back to him just two days after he’d sent in his application.

"Didn't they ever learn that responding fast makes you look desperate? Shit, man, I thought I'd have like another week at least. Now I gotta buy a new shirt by tomorrow. How late is Target open?"

He was used to taking temporary jobs doing unskilled construction and landscaping work; jobs where potential employers took a look at him, mentally calculated how much he could lift, and pointed him in the direction of the wheelbarrow. He wasn’t used to jobs where people scrutinized his experiences, asked about the summer internship he’d done years ago at a wildlife center – where he'd spent most of his time scrubbing shit out of kennels – and even about the classes he’d taken in college. He had never had such a _real_ feeling interview, where he met with multiple people – both his direct supervisors and other members of the program – who wanted to know about him, his interests, his experience, his ability to work with others. He barely refrained from making bad jokes each time he got nervous, and had to keep catching himself from dropping curse words into his answers. By the end of the afternoon, his tongue was numb from speaking so carefully, and he had sweated through his shirt. Holding focus this long indoors was always a challenge, but every time he’d start to slip he’d remember that morning.

 

_Oromë had done up the buttons on his shirt - bought late the night before - after seeing that Celegorm had fumbled and mis-buttoned them, and then had laid warm hands on his shoulders and looked him in the eye._

_“Remember to breathe,” he’d said. “And remember that you are entirely capable of this.”_

_“What if I fuck it up?” Celegorm realized, shocked, that the prospect had him jittery with nerves._

_Oromë shrugged. “Then you fuck it up. There will be other interviews, other opportunities, other jobs.” Then he’d kissed Celegorm and murmured, as Celegorm gave into the urge to bury his face in Oromë’s shoulder, “But you can do this. And I’ll have dinner going for us when you get back, okay? You're going to do great, and I'll be here waiting for you - Just remember to breathe.”_

 

So Celegorm slowed his racing pulse, breathed deep, and kept going – and when he got a moment, he ducked into the bathroom and tried to wring out the worst of his shirt.

Now there was just one final interview section.

He sat in the little room and tried not to wriggle uncomfortably on the hard, creaky chair. Maybe the fact that he’d gotten this far meant that he stood a chance – or maybe that just meant he had more to lose by screwing up at the last minute.

The door opened.

The person who came in was a well-dressed man in maybe his early thirties, his hair slicked back and his teeth very white as he gave Celegorm a broad smile. Something about the smile made Celegorm feel immediately clumsy and ill at ease.

“Celegorm, is it?” The man held out a hand and shook Celegorm’s hand briskly before sitting down opposite him and crossing his legs. He has a stack of papers in his hands that he glanced at briefly before setting them down and leaning forward to fix Celegorm with a penetrating gaze and more of that blinding smile. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Eonwë, spokesman and PR director for the Súlimo Foundation. You’ve already talked with the folks who will be your direct supervisors, the forestry program, all that, correct?”

Celegorm nodded. Eonwë’s eyes had an opaque quality, like milk stirred into tea, and something about that milky, unflinching stare was unnerving.

“I don’t have much to ask in terms of your qualifications. Your resume answers that, I’m sure the ranger crew have grilled you plenty on that front, and it’s not like I am the forestry expert, here. At any rate, I won’t be overseeing you and am not the one who makes the call on your suitability for the job, but I do like to lay eyes on our prospective new hires. Especially when they have a personal connection to the foundation.”

Celegorm shifted in his chair and stopped guiltily as it let out a squeak. “Sorry?”

Eonwë tapped the papers at his side. “You come to us via Oromë Aldaron, don’t you?”

“He’s not on my references,” said Celegorm quickly.

“Of course not,” said Eonwë. “You wouldn’t want a conflict of interest, good thinking. But nevertheless, you are _implicitly_ one of Oromë’s finds, and I always make time for the people Oromë finds.” He laughed, and Celegorm smiled uncomfortably, not sure what the joke was. “I have never met such a one for _finding_ people as Aldaron, and the kicker is that the people he finds are always worthwhile. So even though you don’t come with his official recommendation, I am inclined to think highly of you, because Oromë thinks highly of you.”

“How do you know – ”

Eonwë tapped the papers again. “It’s my job to know, Mr. Fëanorion. I do PR and public outreach for a major charitable foundation. It is my _job_ to know what might affect it, either externally or from within. It’s my job to know that you are the third son of Fëanor son of Finwë, the same Fëanor who was tried in the court over which Manwë presided four years ago, and that you are the lover of Manwë’s old friend Oromë Aldaron, who was also your rugby coach during your time at Beleriand University, where you majored in forestry.”

Celegorm swallowed. His instinctive reaction was to get defensive, angry at this rapid dissection of his personal life, but instead he just felt nervous. “Oh.”

Eonwë waited another moment, as if giving Celegorm a chance to reply more fully, and when he didn’t, Eonwë set the papers on the ground and said, “You won’t see him around, don’t worry.”

“Sorry,” said Celegorm, “see who?”

“Manwë.” Eonwë leaned back in his chair. “His name may be on the foundation, but you are hardly under his purview and he doesn’t come around much. There won’t be any overlap. I imagine that comes as some relief to you?”

“Uh,” said Celegorm. “Sure, I guess.”

“Unless of course,” said Eonwë smoothly, “you were _hoping_ to encounter him.” It held the cadence of a question, but Celegorm hesitated, unsure if he was being asked or told.

“Uh,” he said again. “No, not really.”

“It wouldn’t be a bad tactic,” said Eonwë lightly, “to get close to someone you might wish to…confront.”

“What? No,” said Celegorm, suddenly realizing what Eonwë was getting at. “Shit, no – I mean. Just, no. Sir.” The word came awkwardly to his tongue. “I don’t want to confront anyone.”

_He thinks I’m trying to get hired to infiltrate the foundation and get at Manwë? Like, that’s a tactic I wouldn’t put past Curvo, but…_

“Not a vengeful man, are you?” Eonwë smiled, and again Celegorm wasn’t sure if he was being invited to share in a joke, or being charged with something.

He opened his mouth, trying to think of the right thing to say when a prospective future employer lightly alluded to a personal vendetta, but as he was about to speak, Eonwë chuckled, and set both feet on the floor. The x-ray stare he’d been leveling at Celegorm suddenly lessened.

“Forget I asked, Mr. Fëanorion. Just doing my due diligence, but I don’t actually think this is something we have to worry about.” Eonwë examined him again, then abruptly rose to his feet. “Come with me, let’s take a tour of the place.”

Apprehensively, and not entirely sure he shouldn’t be offended, Celegorm got up and followed him out of the room.

Eonwë talked rapidly as they walked, pointing out different features of the center. Celegorm followed uncertainly, not sure if this meant it was assumed he was being hired, and too ill at ease to ask. But Eonwë was talking about Oromë again, and Celegorm leaned forward, interested.

“Oromë is the best recruiter we never hired. Every person he sends our way ends up being a prize. I know, once upon a time, Manwë pushed for us to hire him full-time to work for the foundation, but he refused. Always liked doing his own thing, finding his own path. But maybe now,” Eonwë’s smile flickered quicksilver over his face, “maybe if we offered _now_ , he’d be more inclined to take it. At any rate, the program has benefitted from his finds for years. In fact, I’m pretty sure we just took on another one of his referrals.” Eonwë nodded at a bulletin board they were passing, where pictures of employees were pinned up alongside brief bios. “You probably know him.” Eonwë continued down the hall, not noticing that Celegorm had stumbled and then stopped dead, staring at a picture on the bulletin board. “I believe he was your year at Beleriand?”

 

 


	65. So much reserve must make you wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fight, a reconciliation of sorts, and a picnic. Also crawdads and Finwions playin’ tunes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Warnings for certain people coping with emotion and insecurity in self-destructive and unhealthy ways, and a big blow-out fight.

Celegorm slammed through Oromë’s front door, and Oromë looked up from where he was chopping onions for dinner. “Hey, how’d the interview go?”

He took in Celegorm’s expression and his face fell. “Not well?”

“It went fine,” Celegorm said tersely. “I’ll probably be getting a call in about a week.”

“That’s great!” But Oromë hesitated, looking at Celegorm’s rigid shoulders. “You don’t seem very happy about it.”

“What do I have to be happy about?”

“That seems like a rhetorical question. Or at least, I hope it is.” Oromë wiped his knife carefully on a cloth before setting it down. “Why does a prospect at your dream job give you nothing to be happy about?”

“Guess who I’ll be working with?” snarled Celegorm. “Guess who will be my fucking co-worker if they hire me?”

“Wh – ”

“ _Mablung_.” Celegorm cursed and tore angrily at his cuffs, shucking his collared shirt as if it was burning his skin. “Mablung, that motherfucker who gave me hell for four years and who – god _damn_ this fucking shirt – and who has to be working at the only place I’ve ever actually wanted to work – because of _you_.”

“What?” Oromë crossed the kitchen just as Celegorm finally freed himself of the hated shirt and threw it across the room. “He’s working there? I didn’t know he was applying...”

“Cut the bullshit!” snapped Celegorm. “Eonwë told me that Mablung’s another one of your _finds_ , another one of your _favorites_ – he’s there because of your recommendation!”

“ _Oh._ ” Realization dawned on Oromë’s face. “Yes, I suppose that must be it. I did write him a letter for his file, but I didn’t know what job he was applying for. I wrote him a general character reference that he could use as he pleased, and kept it intentionally non-specific. I honestly didn’t know he’d be applying at the Preserve, though it shouldn’t surprise me, you two were in the same program and studied the same – ”

“You wrote him a _reference_?” Celegorm exploded. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Oromë stared at him. “I had no idea you would be interested.”

Celegorm dragged a hand through his hair, pacing the kitchen. “When did this happen?”

“This summer, not so long ago. Last month, I think.”

“So he got in touch, just out of the blue, and what then?”

“Well, the first I heard from him was when he came over and I – ”

“He was here? In your house? Are you fucking _kidding_ me?”

“Yes, he was here, but Tyelko, calm down. You weren’t there, you didn’t have to see him or interact with him…”

“How _could_ you – How could you write _him_ , of all people – How could you help – ”

“How could I help one of the players I coached for four years?” Oromë’s eyebrows raised. “It’s part of what I have always done. I’ve written references for any number of my players, when asked. I always figure it’s the least I can do.”

“But you know who he is! You know how I feel about him!”

“I do,” said Oromë slowly. “But just because the two of you disliked each other and had a rivalry doesn’t mean that _I_ dislike him.”

Celegorm laughed bitterly. “So you like him, huh. Enough to get him a job?”

“I’ve helped lots of the players I coached,” said Oromë in some frustration. “It’s part of _my_ job _._ ”

“I’m glad you’re so helpful.” Celegorm sneered. “It’s so heartwarming to see you help out the guy who called me a _whore_ for being with you.”

Oromë started. “He did what?”

“Oh yeah, after you told the team about us. Fun story, that was: he called me a whore for sucking your cock, and implied that I did for preferential treatment.” Celegorm still had on a bright, dangerous smile, but his voice was thick with anger. “Told me I ruined your career and the team because I was such a slut, oh yeah, he really let me know what he thought of me because he’s such a _stand up guy_ , that Mablung. And after that, apparently he has the fuckin’ nerve to go to you for help, and it sounds like he was confident that you’d give it to him. Huh, wonder why that was?”

“Probably because I’ve never said no to someone asking for a reference,” said Oromë slowly, “but hang on, Tyelko, he really said – ”

“Never said no, eh? You know, I bet I wasn’t the first to want more from you.” Celegorm stared at Oromë, his arms folded. “What _have_ you said no to? Have you had other players you’ve coached want you?”

“Why didn’t you tell me that he had – ”

“Have you had other players want you?”

Oromë’s eyes flickered briefly. “Yes, probably. But you _know_ you’re the only one I ever – ”

Celegorm swallowed convulsively. “You think he – Mablung – ever wanted you?”

“I don’t know.” Oromë struggled for a moment. “I suspected something, once or twice. But that’s not really relevant in terms of my helping him or not. I’ve done this, as I’ve said, countless times, and it’s not a matter of what the player in question feels towards me, it’s a matter of if I can honestly vouch for their character, and I generally can. But I never knew he said those things to you.” His breathing had deepened, as if he was trying to calm himself, and his fingers curled on the counter. “He really called you – ”

“Whatever,” said Celegorm tonelessly.  “Is dinner gonna be ready soon? I’m fucking starving.”

They ate in near silence, Oromë trying to return to normal conversation even as Celegorm brooded.

“How did the rest of the interview go?”

“Fine.”

“What were the people you talked to like?”

“Fine.” Celegorm pushed his food around his plate. “That Eonwë is kind of weird.”

“Oh?”

“He asked some things.” Celegorm stared at his plate. “About my dad.”

Oromë frowned. “Surely that wasn’t relevant to your interview. That doesn’t seem appropriate to bring up.”

“That’s what I thought, but I dunno, it was like he thought I was there for some other reason. He dropped it pretty quick. But he was a little… I dunno about him.”

“I’ve always liked Eonwë,” said Oromë thoughtfully, “but – ”

“Always liked him, have you?” Celegorm’s temper flared up again out of nowhere. “Another fucker who doesn’t trust my motives, did you get him _his_ job too?”

“ _No_. I didn’t mean that I thought he was in the right, Tyelko, why are you – ”

“Forget it,” snapped Celegorm, pushing back from the table. “I’m not hungry, okay?”

He retreated to the bedroom, and Huan followed him, holding a toy hopefully in his mouth. With much whining and pleading eyebrows, Huan got Celegorm to engage in a sullen game of tug of war, but Huan gave up after a few attempts, and Celegorm slumped back on the bed, his arms crossed over his chest. Oromë came into the room and paused in the doorway, looking at Celegorm. Then he crossed the room to sit on the bed next to Celegorm and touched his cheek gently.

“You had a good interview,” he said softly. “That’s something, isn’t it? I know it threw you to find out about who you’d be working with, and anyone would be riled by Eonwë prying about their motives, but baby, you had a good interview, and you’re almost certainly going to get a job offer out of it. This is worth being proud of, even if you don’t end up taking it.”

“Why wouldn’t I take it?”

“You seem a little ambivalent about your future co-workers.”

Celegorm snorted. “I’ve been forced to spend time around people I don’t like before.”

“Tyelko,” said Oromë, his hand still cupped to Celegorm’s cheek, “I didn’t know about those things Mablung said. If I had…” He trailed off.

Celegorm looked at him skeptically. “Wouldn’t have helped him out, would you?”

Once again, Oromë appeared to struggle. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “On a personal level, I want to tear the head off anyone who talks like that to you, but I also…I suspect he was reacting from a place of resentment and confusion and shock, and he didn’t really – ”

“Are you kidding me?” Celegorm ducked Oromë’s hand and surged to his feet. “You’re defending him!”

“I’m not! I’m not, I swear. I just think I understand where that kind of invective might have been coming from…”

“That makes it okay, huh?”

“No, it doesn’t. It’s not okay, and _no one_ has a right to say those kind of things about you. You know none of it is true, right?” Oromë stretched out an arm for Celegorm, but Celegorm stepped out of his reach.

“You spend a lot of time thinking about people. Helping them out.”

Oromë dropped his arm to his side, finally looking exasperated. “Is that a _bad_ thing? I’ve helped you, too, I hope.”

“Yeah! But you’re fucking me.”

Oromë’s face was suddenly inscrutable. “Are you implying I only help you because I’m sleeping with you?”

“No, but – Look, I should get to fuckin’ veto certain motherfuckers coming to your house. ‘Cos if you help me, and you help him, what’s the difference between us?”

“I can’t help anyone who’s not you? For Christ’s sake, Tyelko, the difference between you and Mablung is that _I love you._ ” Oromë threw his hands up. “And that you love me back, presumably.”

Celegorm didn’t answer. He was pacing again, Huan watching him with worried eyes. “You don’t know that he doesn’t have feelings for you too.”

“Does it matter? I don’t make decisions about who to help based on whether I think they have a crush on me, I make them based on – ”

Celegorm wasn’t listening. “I know the difference between me and Mablung. I’m the one who made a move. I turned up in your bed.”

“What’s your point?”

“So the only difference between me and Mablung is that I let you know I was interested and he didn’t.”

Oromë was looking more and more frustrated. “I feel like this is getting off topic. What do Mablung’s hypothetical feelings or actions towards me have to do with any of this? And let me repeat that the difference between you two is that _you’re_ the person I’m in love with.”

Celegorm didn’t look at him. “Maybe if he’d done what I did, you’d be with him instead. Would you have? Would you have hooked up him if he made a move on you? You clearly don’t have a problem with fucking your players.”

“Are you kidding me?” Now Oromë sounded utterly disbelieving, and there was true anger and hurt in his voice.

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s not a question I thought I’d ever hear from you. Why are you even bringing this up? Why – ” Oromë sounded like he was struggling to keep his voice down. “I don’t understand.”

The tone in his voice threw Celegorm even further into fury. “So now you’re getting mad? What right do _you_ have to be pissed?”

“What right – ” Oromë’s eyes flashed and he stood up at last. “Listen to what you’re accusing me of! After all we’ve been through, after all this time, you don’t trust me! And what you think I’m apparently capable of…” His voice was low and very fierce. “You simultaneously throw our relationship in my face as a reason I can’t support anyone but you, which is truly fucked up logic, by the way, and then you turn around and use our involvement as _evidence_ of my lack of moral judgment. I know I have to expect that kind of assumption from everyone from the university to your parents, but forgive me if I thought I wouldn’t have to face such judgment from my lover. Do you really think I was so eager to fuck any young thing that spread himself over my bed? Do you really think the only reason I’m with you was that I had the opportunity? Because you were a good lay and you threw yourself at me? You think that’s the reason I’ve spent the last two years with you, simply because I _could._ ”

Celegorm glared at him and said nothing.

“And on top of all this, you seem to think the only motive I could possibly have for supporting someone I coached for four years must be carnal. God, Tyelko, forgive me for hoping you thought better of me than that!”

“You won’t answer me!” yelled Celegorm. “If he had been the one to make a move, instead of me, would you have ended up with him?”

Oromë stared at him, and his expression was suddenly stony. He got to his feet and Celegorm bolted up after him. “Where are you going?”

“To the living room. I’m sleeping on the couch.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to go to bed with you like this.”

“Hang the fuck on.” Celegorm grabbed his arm and pulled him around. Oromë stared down at him, his eyes hard, and Celegorm felt something like excitement mounting along with his fury. He had seen Oromë angry before, but never directed at him. “Why do you think you can just walk away?”

“Tyelko,” growled Oromë, “Let me go.”

Celegorm bared his teeth. “I’m not gonna let you just run away ‘cos you don’t like what I’m saying.” Celegorm caught the front of Oromë’s shirt and pulled him down so their faces were inches apart, so that Oromë couldn’t loom over him. “You make me so fucking angry,” he whispered. “Why don’t you just – Why can’t you just – ” He could feel Oromë’s breath on his lips and he felt lightheaded with sudden ferocious desire. “I want you to go to hell, you asshole, but I don’t want you to _leave_.” He rose up on his toes and pressed his lips fiercely to Oromë’s, more of a bite than a kiss, and Oromë made a faint noise of disbelief.

Celegorm hung onto Oromë and kissed him roughly, pressing himself to Oromë’s chest. “You gonna try to shut me up now?” he whispered. “You know you want to.” He ground his hips against Oromë’s thigh. “You gonna fuck me quiet?”

For a moment, Oromë raised his arms and gripped Celegorm hard, dragging them close together. Celegorm felt a fierce satisfaction as Oromë’s hands tightened on his waist, fingers digging into his flesh. But when Celegorm snarled and kissed him again, Oromë released him and stepped back, so abruptly that Celegorm staggered.

“ _No_.”

Celegorm dragged a hand over his mouth and glared, his breath coming fast. “What the fuck, Oromë?”

“You are not going to talk me into this. I am not going down this road with you,” said Oromë flatly, and turned away. “We are _not_ having sex angry.”

Celegorm grabbed his arm again. “Why the hell not?”

Oromë stared down at him, his eyes quite unreadable. “Because I’ve been down that road before, and I am not going there again. Not with you.” Pulling free of Celegorm’s hand, he vanished down the hallway, leaving Celegorm in the dark, his chest tight with anger and throbbing with something like shame.

He went to sleep alone, or tried to, tossing and turning in the familiar bed in which he’d never slept by himself. He couldn’t stop thinking about Oromë, still and silent on the couch down the hall, the first time they’d gone to bed angry but in the same house, and he thought of himself, sleeping alone on that same couch two years ago, longing for Oromë.

He almost got up then, almost flung himself down the hall into the dark living room to kneel next to the couch and whisper Oromë awake, to crawl into his arms and beg forgiveness, to kiss his throat and feel Oromë hold him close and kiss him and stroke his hair and murmur that all was okay.

The first time he had made that trip down the hallway, in the other direction, Oromë had not turned him away.

_But he never answered you._

Celegorm sat up, punched a pillow into shape, and flung himself down again. Mindless fear clawed at him, the fear that the bitter truth would be revealed to him someday, the truth he had always suspected.

_It didn’t have to be you. It could have been someone else. If Mablung had come to him that night, instead of you… It’s only luck that you’re with him. You just happened to get to him first._

_Just like Mablung got to the Foundation first._

_“Not a vengeful man, are you?”_

Celegorm swore and threw the pillow across the room. He lay flat without it as Eonwë’s words echoed in his ears again, burning a hole in his chest with anger and humiliation.

_“It wouldn’t be a bad tactic…to get close to someone you might wish to confront.”_

Everywhere, everywhere he went, no matter how he tried to flee it, his father’s long shadow followed. Even when he rejected the connection, people insisted on making it for him, and as much as he tried not to care, he did. He cared so much he ached with it, was made furious by it, and now his anger had thrown him against the person whose love he treasured more than anything.

_There’s nothing special about you. You weren’t the first to want him, you weren’t the first to have him, and the main reason the Foundation is interested in you is because of your father._

_Why would anyone want you for you?_

Just before dawn, driven wild by restlessness, Celegorm rose from the bed and crept down the hall. He stood for a second over Oromë’s sleeping form, unhappiness and longing warring within him, and though part of him yearned for nothing more than to slip onto the couch at Oromë’s side and curl up – he forced himself on, and out of the house, not waking the figure asleep on the couch.

When Oromë woke, Huan was asleep next to the couch but Celegorm was gone.

 

* * *

 

 

Maglor looked up from his notebook and caught a blaze of color out of the corner of his eye. Standing up, he could see properly out of his window to where the maple tree across the street was starting to turn, a scattering of leaves in its canopy flaring to red. He crossed the room and opened the window, ducking the batik cloth he had pinned up as a curtain and breathing deep as a fall-smelling breeze rushed in. Humming slightly to himself, he unlatched the screen and pulled it out of the frame. He propped it against the wall and hoisted himself onto the windowsill, being careful of splinters. After reaching back to grab a case from his desk, he swung his legs around and scooted forward to drop out of the window.

Crouching as he landed lightly onto the part of the roof that jutted out over the picture windows, Maglor sat down, his back propped to the shingles, and took his violin out of its case. He closed his eyes from a moment, smelling dried leaves and a hint of wood smoke as the wind lifted his hair, and then he set his bow to the strings.

Some days he leaned towards classical – springtime, for example, always put him in the mood for Vivaldi – but the joyous melancholy of fall called for fiddle music; foot-tapping cowboy tunes or lively Celtic airs, notes that spiraled down like the helicopter seeds across the street.

He played on through the sound of someone – Celegorm, by the weight of the footsteps – slamming through the front door, and later, the somewhat more subdued sound of Caranthir getting home. There was a brief sound of competing music from Caranthir’s room, but it was quickly shut off and followed by the sound of a window opening. Caranthir would never say as much, but he liked when Maglor played, especially fiddle music, and would open his windows to let the sound drift into his room. Maglor played on through the sound of the front door opening again, a quiet exchange of voices just beyond his range of hearing, and then the sound of the window above him being opened again.

He only opened his eyes when someone dropped down on the roof next to him, and he only paused his playing when he saw that it was Daeron.

“A regular fiddler on the roof, eh?”

Maglor didn’t answer, letting his bow drop to the strings once again with a slightly vengeful screech that made Daeron wince but not stop talking.

“It’s kind of sentimental, but it works for you.”

Maglor still didn’t acknowledge him, but let a few bars of “Sunrise, Sunset” drift from his violin. Daeron sang the lyrics quietly, and then smiled, looking at the scuffed toes of his shoes as he stretched his legs out in front of him.

“I always forget how good you are on violin. We really should have taken advantage of that when…” His voice trailed off, and Maglor finally took the instrument out from under his chin.

“When we were actually recording together? Before you screwed me over, of course.”

“Yes.” Daeron stared down the slope of the roof.

“You’re right, there’s a lot we could have taken advantage of. A lot of opportunities wasted.” He saw Daeron cast a quick, alarmed glance at him, and Maglor colored. “Not like that! I meant in terms of music. I could have helped you make that album _legendary_.”

“I know you could have. You already made it like ten times better than it was going to be, you and Ría both.” Daeron pulled in a long breath. “Look, Mags, I honestly never meant to screw you over like that. I just don’t…I wasn’t _thinking_ about shit like logistics and contracts, I was wrapped up in the music.”

“So was I,” said Maglor, and then grew angry again. “But after a while, I was literally living on my non-existent savings, and then I _couldn’t_ just think about the music! It’s easy to get ‘wrapped up in the art’ when you’re not thinking about your bank account or the fact that you’re living on your best friend’s dubious charity.”

“Listen – ”

“How _hard_ would it have been to get me a paycheck?”

“I’m not good at that kind of shit, okay, I’m an artist, not an accountant, and – ” Daeron caught himself, and stopped. “But you’re right. You’re right, okay? I was a dick about it. And me being clueless about business and whatever is no excuse, I get it, I do. But that’s why I’m here, Mags – I wanna get you in the studio again.”

“Oh good,” said Maglor, and his bow dragged a _Psycho_ shriek from his violin. “Me working with you again, what could possibly go wrong?”

“With a contract this time,” said Daeron firmly. “I talked with my producers and wrangled you a real contract, and payment – not just for new stuff, you’re gonna get compensated for what you’ve already done. And songwriting credit, well, co-songwriting credit – ”

“ _Co_? You did NOT help me write ‘Salt Crusade’.”

“No, Ría did, she’s who you’re sharing credit with, dummy.”

“Oh.” Maglor closed his mouth, surprised. “Wow, Dai. Are you…”

“Am I what?”

“Cured of being a dick or something?”

“Oh, nicely put, thanks, Fëanorion.” Daeron dug an elbow into Maglor’s ribs, and Maglor smiled reluctantly. “But yeah, I am. Trying to be.”

They sat in silence together, the breeze coming up again and blowing some strands of Daeron’s sandy-colored hair into Maglor’s eyes.

“What do you say?” asked Daeron quietly. “Willing to give it another shot?”

“I’ve got to think about it a bit,” said Maglor, after a pause. “No offense, but I’m not a hundred percent sure I trust you.”

Daeron didn’t say anything.

“But you know I want to, Dai, you know I live for it.”

“I do.”

And it was ultimately the fact that Daeron did know that made Maglor hesitate. He could so easily be convinced to go back, Daeron knowing that the music mattered more to him than money, and before he knew it, he could be falling into the same trap as before. He’d have to talk to Caranthir about it, he told himself resolutely, he’d have to see what Daeron’s people were actually offering. But his fingers itched with the desire to get back into the studio.

To fill the silence, Maglor plucked absently at the strings of his violin, and Daeron hummed something wordless and upbeat that sent Maglor’s toes tapping. He picked up his bow again and started to play, improvising a tune as Daeron started to sing.

After an interlude, the sun came out from behind a cloud, and Daeron’s voice trailed off. Maglor set down his violin, and Daeron let out a sigh. “I should probably be going, I told my parents I’d swing by for dinner.”

“Sure.”

Daeron got to his feet and Maglor did too, but stayed leaning against the wall as Daeron put his hands on the lip of the window and heaved himself back up.

“Hey, what made you come by?” Maglor asked, just before Daeron disappeared back into the house.

Daeron looked down at him. “I wanted to see you. I missed working with you.”

Maglor stared back. “But why else?”

Daeron chewed his lip for a moment and then dragged something out of his pocket. “This didn’t hurt.” He tossed a crumpled letter down to Maglor, and Maglor studied it, eyebrows drawing together in confusion at the complex legalese that confronted him. “It’s a letter threatening me, my producers, and my record label with legal action if we don’t ‘appropriately compensate you for services rendered.’” Daeron shifted on the windowsill. “But I’d been wanting to come see you anyway, right? This just…sped things along.”

Maglor still didn’t answer, searching the letter for a signature.

“Your family’s scary, Fëanorion,” said Daeron, shaking his head, and swung himself into Maglor’s room. “I’ll be in touch, okay? But call off the dogs.”

There was no signature – an odd omission, Maglor thought – but something about the letter felt…familiar. He was still studying it when a dark head popped out of the window.

“Tyelko wants to know if you wanna go down to the park with the rest of the crew for that ‘back to school cousin fest’ or whatever the fuck Irissë called it in the email. Hey, got some interesting mail there?”

Maglor looked up, saw Caranthir’s smug expression as he propped his chin on his hand, and his mouth dropped open.

“You did this?”

Caranthir smirked. “Did what? I never do anything, I’m notoriously lazy. Come on, get your ass back in the house.”

“I told you I didn’t want you to do anything! I told you I didn’t need help.”

Caranthir tapped his fingers on the windowsill and eyed the maple across the street. “I seriously don’t know what you’re raving about.”

“Is this fraud? Did you fake this? Or did you actually get some law firm to do this for you?”

“Oh Káno, you’ve never had a head for business. Get off the roof, you weirdo, and stop throwing baseless accusations around.” He reached out a hand and pulled Maglor up, while Maglor laughed despite himself, and slipped the letter into his pocket.

-

Celegorm was waiting for them downstairs by the front door, clearly impatient.

“Took you long enough,” he growled, when they came down the stairs.

“Should we wait for Curvo? Have you asked him if he wants to come?”

“This will come as a screaming shock to you, but he says he’s got homework.” Celegorm rolled his eyes. “So he’s out. But come _on_ already, let’s get to this stupid thing.”

“If you think it’s so stupid,” said Maglor, as they headed down the front walk and turned onto the street,” why are you going?”

“Because Ireth planned it and she’d be pissed if I bailed,” said Celegorm, kicking at a rock and sending it skidding down a storm drain. “I don’t get why she’s organizing a ‘back to school’ anything, Christ, most of us have graduated at this point.”

“Nostalgia’s sake, maybe,” said Maglor. “Or just an excuse to get us all together in a scenario that doesn’t involve drinking, for once?”

“If Ireth doesn’t have a flask on her, I’ll eat my own ass. I’ll be pissed, too, because I could use some alcohol to get through a cutesy family afternoon in the park.” Celegorm kicked another rock, and Caranthir looked sideways at him.

“Why are _you_ in such a peachy mood?”

“I’m fine,” growled Celegorm.

“Something’s got your panties in a twist for you to be this pissy.”

“ _I’m not pissy._ ”

“Oh look, the park!” said Maglor brightly, stepping between his brothers as they rounded the corner.

A small group was gathered between two spreading oaks. Aredhel was stringing a slackline between the two trees while Turgon hauled several enormous bags of food and set them up by the blanket Finrod was spreading over the ground. Fingon, who had stripped to his shirtsleeves and knotted his tie around his head in a rogueish fashion, was unfastening the clasps of a guitar case. There was another, much smaller instrument case on the ground next to him.

“God,” said Caranthir, wrinkling his nose, “has Findekáno joined an emo band or something?”

“Well, you’d know,” said Celegorm snidely. “O ye king of emo.”

“Suck my dick, asshole.”

Maglor pulled up short, cutting off what would have been an undoubtedly filthy rejoinder from Celegorm. “They brought instruments!”

“So what?” Caranthir and Celegorm kept walking, leaving Maglor behind on the sidewalk.

“No one told me! If I’d known, I would have brought my own.”

“Oh, well.” Caranthir shrugged, and Celegorm rolled his eyes.

“I’m going back for my violin.” Maglor turned on his heel and took off back down the street while his brothers ignored him and headed over to the picnic blanket.

Aredhel had finished hanging her slackline and turned to greet Celegorm, ruffling his hair and narrowing her eyes questioningly at his grim expression.

“What’s up?” she mouthed at him, but he just shook his head.

“I’ll tell you later,” he muttered. “But hey, you got – ?” His voice went too low to overhear, and Aredhel passed him something from her back pocket that he quickly slipped into his own.

With a last sideways glance at him, Aredhel turned to the others and said, “Ironically we’re missing half our actual students for the back to school thing, because Arko has rehearsal and Curvo has homework and whatever, but close enough, right?”

Celegorm was still looking restless, fingers drumming against his thigh. “I’m not really interested in the sitting on my ass and chatting thing, I think I’m gonna go down to the creek.”

“That’s cool.” Aredhel eyed him again, then adjusted the webbing she’d wound around the tree trunk. “Don’t fall in.” As Celegorm vanished towards the thicket of trees growing around the ravine where the creek flowed, Aredhel stepped back and examined the slackline. She lifted a leg and delicately tested the tension with a toe. “Hmm.”

Her audience, who had broken open some of the bags of food and were munching on watermelon and cold chicken, offered up advice.

“Hang it higher.”

“Do a dance on it.”

“Do a backflip on it.”

“I think you guys are not understanding the _zen_ of slacklining,” said Aredhel, not looking at her cousins and brothers, and sprang onto the line.

“String it between two buildings and I’ll be interested,” said Caranthir, and yawned. He lay back on the picnic blanket, taking up most of it, and both Fingon and Finrod made peeved noises at him.

“Greedy little bastard, that blanket is for all of our butts.”

“And your feet are in my face,” said Finrod, wrinkling his nose.

Caranthir waggled his toes, unperturbed. “You two weirdos can play your music not on a blanket. I wanna nap, okay, I just survived a full week of school and I deserve rest.”

Finrod plucked his ukulele threateningly. “I just completed a full week of school too, as you know, seeing as I was the one to hand you your assigned reading.”

“Yeah, that’s not going to get read.” Caranthir dropped an arm over his eyes and appeared to settle in.

“Early in the semester to get on my bad side,” said Finrod, but he gave up on moving Caranthir’s feet and settled back against the tree, shoulder to shoulder with Fingon, who already had his guitar out.

“What first?”

“What are our choices?”

“Lessee.” Fingon squinted at the sky. “I got ‘Wagon Wheel’ and ‘Strong Enough’ on lock.”

“Oooh, Sheryl Crow? Finno, you tempting minx, let’s do that.”

They were halfway through the second verse when Maglor reappeared, violin in hand, and Fingon gestured him over with a broad smile.

Quite a bit of time passed before Celegorm re-emerged from the tangle of trees at the back of the park, his jeans rolled up to the knee, his feet muddy and his hair tangled. He was carrying a bucket.

“Did you have a bucket with you when you left?” Fingon looked both intrigued and disconcerted.

“I foraged it. I’m a masterful hunter and gatherer, remember.”

“What have you been up to?” asked Turgon, eyeing him warily.

“Crawdad hunting, pumpkin.” Celegorm shook the bucket and grinned, looking in far better spirits than he had when they first got to the park. “Want some?” He let the bucket slip a little, accidentally on purpose letting a live crayfish drop out and land on Finrod’s shoulder.

Finrod dropped his fingers from the strings of his ukulele and raised them to his shoulder, interested, to take the small crustacean into his hand. “Did you intend this as a biological specimen, Tyelko, or as a snack?” He turned the crayfish over, inspecting its underbelly as it waved its claws threateningly.

“How ‘bout a new romantic companion?” Celegorm smiled wolfishly at him, then set down his bucket and headed over to Aredhel, who was still pacing back and forth on her slackline. She paused midstride to talk to him, placing her hands on his head as she balanced on the line and asked something too quiet for the others to hear. He slid something back into her back pocket, then rested his hands on her hips, looking up at her as he responded, equally quiet.

“Ukulele isn’t the instrument I would have guessed for you,” said Maglor, who had settled down next to Fingon and was finally looking over at Finrod. “Not totally your style.”

“I can’t bring a piano to the park,” said Finrod mildly, and strummed the strings. “And this was a gift from Bëor.”

Fingon chuckled. “He thought you were the uke type, eh?”

“He brought it to college with him,” said Finrod, “and made the observation that I had the ah, habit, of _borrowing_ it from him every weekend. So when he left after our first year, he left me the ukulele, as a gift. He said I played it better than he did, anyway.” He looked down at his hands, smiling, as if remembering something.

Fingon opened his mouth, about to ask a question, when a long shadow fell across the picnic blanket and Caranthir’s snoring form, and he looked up, delighted. “Mae! How was your first day teaching solo?”

“Lord.” Maedhros folded his long legs under him and sank down on the ground. “It was long. I mean, it was as good as could be expected, I suppose, but I am _exhausted_. How on earth am I going to make it through a year of this?”

“More like thirty years of it,” said Caranthir, not opening his eyes. “If this is your career or whatever.”

“Thanks, Moryo.”

Fingon leaned forward and kissed Maedhros over his guitar. “Ignore him, baby, you’ll get into a rhythm with this. It’ll get easier.”

Finrod, who had fallen quiet when Maedhros approached, was looking at him with interest. “New hairstyle, Maitimo?”

Fingon beamed as Maedhros reached up to touch his hair, which had grown long and was tied back in a knot at the back of his head. “I’m overdue for a haircut…”

“No, he’s not,” said Fingon firmly. “It’s part of your new teacher look, Mae. Glasses and a manbun and you hit like two out of three of my major kinks.”

“What’s the third?” Celegorm appeared over Fingon’s shoulder from nowhere, and Fingon leaned away from him.

“Something you will never learn, Tyelko. God, what’s that smell?”

“Crawfish.”

“I bet his kink is crustaceans,” murmured Caranthir, still sprawled cross the blanket, and Finrod looked thoughtful.

“Would that be a sexual attraction _to_ crustacea or sex acts involving crustacea as props?”

“Bet it’s dirty talk,” said Maglor.

“Bet it’s that leather shit I found when I moved in,” said Aredhel, hopping off the slackline. “But this is where my speculation ends.” Her face lit up as she spotted two figures cutting across the park. “Oh my god, it’s my favorite cousin!”

“Hey.”

“Ouch.”

“And she brought my favorite person!”

“ _Hey_.”

“Ouch.”

“Way to twist the knife.”

Aredhel ignored the commentary and held out her arms to scoop Elenwë off her feet as she and Galadriel approached the picnic blanket.

“Hi, you,” said Elenwë, when Aredhel finally set her down. “Sorry to gate crash the family reunion, but Galadriel and I were on campus saying hello to our old advisor and she invited me to come along. I hope that’s okay?”

“No complaints here,” said Aredhel happily, and Turgon gave Elenwë a friendly nod.

“How’s Idril settling back in?”

As Elenwë sat down on the grass, tucked against Aredhel’s side, and chatted with Turgon, Galadriel crossed over to her brother and leaned over his shoulder to see what he was holding.

“Interesting combination,” she said, resting her chin on his head and propping her elbows on his shoulders. “A ukulele and a crayfish. Is it some sort of visual pun?”

“No,” said Finrod, letting her examine the tiny creature. “It’s a gift from Tyelkormo.”

“Hm.” Galadriel picked up the crayfish and let it crawl across her hand, claws waving. “Is it intended as a biological specimen – ”

“Hah,” said Finrod.

“ – or merely your latest romantic companion?”

“ _Hah_ ,” said Celegorm.

“Aiko’s on his way over, too,” said Galadriel imperturbably, as Finrod pulled her braid and Maglor rummaged in one of the bags.

“Are there any vegetarian options here?” he asked, lifting out several more tinfoil-wrapped packets of chicken.

“There’s watermelon,” said Fingon, “last of the season. And vegetarian? Hah. You talk a big game for someone I saw eat a bratwurst last weekend.”

“That doesn’t count,” said Maglor loftily, “I was totally faced at the time.”

“Only swallow sausage when you’re wasted?” muttered Celegorm. “Sounds kinda like Moryo’s experiments with – ”

Not opening his eyes, Caranthir reached out and swung a fist into Celegorm’s stomach, and he subsided, wheezing.  Finrod busied himself with tucking a leaf into the end of Galadriel’s braid, and Maedhros leaned back against Fingon’s knees.

“I agree with Finno, ‘vegetarian only while sober’ is somewhat less than inspiring.”

Maglor looked aggrieved. “I can’t help what my unconscious mind wants.”

“It’s not as enlightened as your conscious one?”

“Maybe it hasn’t watched _Food, Inc_ as many times,” mused Galadriel, setting the crayfish on Finrod’s head.

“Maybe someone should just eat the gawdamn crayfish I caught.” Celegorm seemed to be settling back into a dark mood as he watched a pickup football game start up across the park. “Or at least put that one back in the bucket so it doesn’t get parched.”

“No one is eating those bugs, Tyelko, go put ‘em back in the stream.”

“ _Bugs_? And to think I’m the one who nearly flunked bio. They ain’t bugs, you moron, they’re – ”

Elenwë cleared her throat. “I actually brought some snacks, to pay my way since I am not a cousin.” She opened her bag and pulled out a Tupperware. “Would veggies and hummus do the trick, Maglor?”

-

The sun was setting. Aegnor had showed up with a Frisbee in his hand and a hickey on his neck, the latter of which had drawn intense speculation until Aegnor had flipped them all off and urged Celegorm to his feet.  The two of them were now tossing the Frisbee around and arguing about baseball. Finrod, Fingon, and Maglor had picked up where they’d left off with their music, and Maedhros was drowsing next to them, his head on Fingon’s thigh. Caranthir and Turgon were locked in a debate about universal healthcare, and Galadriel had shed her shoes and was stretched out full-length on the slackline, lying as comfortably as if it were a hammock instead of inch and a half inch thick webbing.

A little way away from all this, Aredhel was sitting cross-legged in the shade of a Japanese maple, her legs crossed and Elenwë’s head settled comfortably on her lap. She stroked Elenwë’s soft, wavy hair and whistled a happy little tune, feeling the most content she had since May.

In the time since Elenwë had gotten home, they had intended to spend hours talking and telling stories, but what they had ended up prioritizing took far fewer words. And when they had finally dragged themselves out of bed, they had tromped around town, revisiting all their favorite spots together.

“We missed our anniversary,” Elenwë had said. “We can do what we would have done if I’d been here! We should go to one of our favorite places.”

But when Aredhel had met her that day, she’d turned up with a list of all their favorite places from the past year.

“I couldn’t decide,” she’d explained, and so for their belated anniversary they had gone to no fewer than three restaurants, two coffee shops, a taco stand, and one ice cream parlor.

“Did we actually have to eat at all of them?” asked Elenwë, unable to move after they’d hit up café number two.

“Yes,” said Aredhel, even as she stared helplessly at her sandwich. “They’re our favorites for a reason, right?”

“How about we just buy some antacids and go nap for three hours instead?”

Once they’d recovered, they had headed over to Turgon’s to pick up Idril. Idril had expressed her joy at Elenwë’s return by biting her sharply on the hand and then curling up in the pocket of the oversized hoodie of Aredhel’s she’d been wearing.

“Everything’s back to normal,” Aredhel had exclaimed happily, and it certainly felt true.

“I’m glad you’re back for the prettiest time of year,” said Aredhel now, picking a leaf off Elenwë’s sweater. “You skipped the horrible humid summer, and are back in time for the gorgeous, crisp – ”

“Fall means winter’s coming, though,” said Elenwë, and shuddered. “I hate winter.”

Aredhel poked her. “Oh, come on, it’ll be fun! We can go ice skating and skiing and sledding…”

Elenwë poked her tongue out. “Gross. How about just staying inside on the couch, wrapped in five sweaters, drinking hot chocolate with marshmallows and a sprinkle of cayenne?”

“How about doing that _after_ the ice skating and skiing and sledding?”

“How ‘bout if instead of five sweaters I’m wearing nothing, and instead of the couch, I’m in the bed, and – ”

“ – and instead of cayenne, there’s BAILEY’S in the cocoa? Okay, I’m in.”

“You are very predictable.” Elenwë smiled and reached up to undo a couple of the buttons on Aredhel’s flannel shirt. “Did you steal this from one of your brothers?”

“Yes. Shh, don’t tell.”

Elenwë carefully wrapped her fingers into the collar of the shirt and pulled Aredhel down until their lips could meet. “I missed you,” she whispered, when they broke apart.

Aredhel grinned to cover the frantic surge of emotion in her chest, and leaned down to bite Elenwë’s ear. “I missed you too.”

“Ouch!”

“Just taking a page from Idril’s book,” said Aredhel, settling back as Elenwë batted at her. “That’s what you get for leaving us.”

“I came back,” Elenwë reminded her. “I always do.”

Aredhel didn’t say anything, but petted Elenwë’s hair absently until Elenwë started to drift off. Half asleep, Elenwë murmured, “Speaking of pets… Tyelko usually brings that dog everywhere with him. It’s weird that Huan’s not here, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is.” Still stroking Elenwë’s hair, Aredhel glanced over at Celegorm, who was currently turned away from them. “But he’ll be back.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Music mentioned in this chapter: [Sunrise, Sunset](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pp8GEytgdZA), [Wagon Wheel](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1gX1EP6mG-E), and [Strong Enough](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Y-ERKz-ynE) (yes, I went with the Dixie Chicks version because it includes a part for fiddle)  
> 2\. [Maedhros’ manbun](http://snartha.tumblr.com/post/130642456416/imindhowwelayinjune-and-i-were-discussing-manbun) thanks to Snartha.  
> 3\. Chapter title thanks to Tracy Chapman, author to all my heartfeels.


	66. Take a gander, appreciate your candor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thoughtfulness of friends, an email, a talk, a Talk, and a surprise. 
> 
> I know it’s cliché and has been said a thousand times before, but Curufin is the Oprah of the Fëanorions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Warnings: Mentions of sexy business towards the end.

Lost in thought, Ríanellë paced back and forth a couple times, before getting distracted by something on a shelf. She rose up on her toes to peer at it and then picked it up.

“Yikes, this is some hat.” She pulled the green and yellow trucker cap over her hair, tugging her ponytail through the loop at the back. “Do you often wear bro clothes with sunflowers on them?”

“Almost exclusively.” Glorfindel was sitting cross-legged on his bedroom floor, frowning into a cardboard box. “What kind of candy should we put in?”

“Anything with peanut butter.” Ríanellë did another lap of Glorfindel’s room, stepping over laundry piles, and then settled down on the ground next to him. “But I was thinking, doesn’t this feel a little boring?”

“How so?”

“Well, my parents are also going to send him a care package with all his favorite snacks and so on, so that part is kind of redundant. And I know there’s no such thing as too many Reese's, but just sending him something he’d enjoy is so _mundane._ We should send him something that will make everyone in his battalion jealous.”

“Make a battalion of Marines jealous.” Glorfindel nodded thoughtfully. “So...alcohol and strippers.”

“Yes, I thought of that, but those might not fit in a box.”

Glorfindel grinned. “I can fold up pretty small.”

“I know, I’ve seen you in pilates. But it’s not viable, unfortunately, however happy I know it would make my brother.”

Glorfindel thought for a second. “Okay, something that would make his battalion jealous…or…”

“Or?”

Glorfindel looked at her, his eyes twinkling. “Or make him _famous._ What’s the weirdest stuff we can put in here?”

“ _Yes._ ” A smile broke over Ríanellë’s face and she steepled her fingers. “More importantly, what’s the most embarrassing stuff we can put in here?”

Half an hour later, when Maglor showed up at Glorfindel’s apartment with the bag of items he’d been asked to pick up on the way, he stepped through the door, his brow furrowed. “Okay, I got the Christmas crackers, the ham log, and the massage oil, but is anyone going to tell me…why…” He trailed off, his mouth falling open in confusion.

Ríanellë was dashing around saying things like, “Cheetos! And condoms! And chocolate fudge! Condoms covered in fudge. _Tampons_.”

Glorfindel rummaged in the box. “How about a big black dildo?”

Ríanellë drew up short. “Do you have one?” She hesitated. “Is that a question I feel comfortable asking my brother’s boyfriend?”

Maglor raised his eyebrows. “Boyfriend?”

Glorfindel and Ríanellë looked up, finally noticing the newcomer, and Maglor waved at them. “Uh, hi. Sorry. Are you two actually dating then?”

Ríanellë laid a hand to her heart as she ruffled up Glorfindel’s hair with the other. “Us? No, that would be awkward.”

Glorfindel tossed a bag of m&ms at Ríanellë. “He wasn’t talking to you, smartass.” He smiled crookedly at Maglor. “Yeah, kinda?”

“Oh.” Maglor digested this. “Hey, congrats. Everyone always wondered if you were. How long has it been going on? A few months?”

“What?” Glorfindel looked startled. “No, like. A couple weeks?”

Maglor frowned. “Seriously? What were you before?”

“Friends.”

Behind his back, Ríanellë made wobbly movements with her hands and Maglor nodded sagely. He looked around the room again, which was in a state of advanced disorder. “So why did you call me?” Ríanellë tossed a bag of Cheetos into the box along with a single Tampax, and Glorfindel scribbled ‘BIG BLACK DILDO’ on a post-it. “And what on earth are you doing?”

“We’re sending Ecthelion the worst care package ever.”

“Oh, of course, stupid of me to ask.” Maglor dropped the bag carefully onto the carpet.

Ríanellë pressed her fingers to her temples, closing her eyes as she thought. “If we acquire a dildo, do you think there’s a way to spring load it so it smacks him in the face when he opens the box?”

“I’d have to consult my little brother on that one.” Maglor sat down on the ground next to Glorfindel.

“Why, is he a sex toy expert?”

“No, he’s an engineer.” Maglor peered into the box. “Do these boxes go through…like screening or something?”

Glorfindel and Ríanellë exchanged glances. “They might?”

“What if a Marine screener opens it and gets smacked in the face with a dildo? You gotta figure that’s a domestic terrorism charge at least.”

“It would really cement it as the worst care package ever,” said Ríanellë, but Glorfindel was already crossing ‘(SPRING LOADED?)’ off his list.

Maglor settled down, tapping his fingers on his knee. “Okay. What’s his least favorite music? Let’s perform it on glockenspiel and send it to him. On cassette.”

“Told you he was the right person to invite over,” said Ríanellë happily, as she sat on the floor next to Maglor and leaned over him to grab the pen from Glorfindel. “What do you think would make him cringe more, Billy Ray Cyrus or Poison?”

“I like Poison,” said Glorfindel mildly, and both Ríanellë and Maglor made revolted faces.

“Oh, Sunshine. It’s a good thing you’re cute.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was turning into a far less productive afternoon than Curufin had planned on, thanks to two uninvited intruders who had occupied his room. But one, at least, could be taken care of with some bodily force.

Despite Aredhel’s insistence that he must be a natural cat person for Lómion to be so drawn to him –“He usually hates all men!”– Curufin had refused to warm to the cat’s presence. “C’mon, Curvo,” Celegorm had said. “Let ‘im hang out with you, you’re clearly two weird little kindred spirits. He hates people, you hate people. You’re obsessed with your computer, he’s obsessed with your computer; he bites those who try to snuggle him, you - well, honestly he’s still more cuddly than you, there. But you even have the same hair color!” He’d proceeded to duck at the venomous look Curufin had thrown him.

Now Curufin shoved Lómion out of his room with one hand and closed the door with the other. Then he turned, hands on his hips, to glare at his brother, who was sprawled across his bed and fiddling with one of his circuit boards and who would be far less easy to throw bodily from the room.

Celegorm twiddled something on the circuit board and Curufin narrowed his eyes. “You’re going to break that.”

“Am not.”

“Are too. Why are you still in here?”

“Bored.”

“You’re always bored.”

“Everything is _boring_.”

“I am far more boring than Irissë,” said Curufin hopefully. “Go hang out with her.”

“Elenwë’s in there.” Celegorm made a face. “Everyone’s all sweet and cozy with their significant others, shoot me in the fucking face.”

“Don’t tempt me.” Curufin ignored the renewed scratching at his door. “And don’t be so whiny, for god’s sake, you’re acting like you’ve been through a break up. Have you?” He leveled a sudden stare at Celegorm.

“What?” Celegorm went ashen. “No!”

“Well, then, stop acting like you have. Either go and actually break up with him –”

“I don’t want to break up with him!”

“– or go fix things. Apologize, if it was your fault, and it probably is.” Curufin waved an impatient hand. “Do whatever you’re supposed to do. Erotic massages of regret. Leave a dead squirrel of contrition on his step. I don’t know how you two communicate.”

Celegorm looked like he was torn between irritation and amusement. “Are you trying to give me relationship advice, Curvo?”

“I’m trying to get you out of my room.”

“A dead squirrel,” muttered Celegorm, but he was grinning as he slid off Curufin’s bed. “I’m gonna use that one on you next time you’re mad at me.”

“You’re hopeless every time you and Oromë aren’t speaking,” said Curufin, sitting down at his desk and booting up his computer. “And I am the one who suffers. Go fix it, idiot, so I can get some work done.”

Celegorm rested a hand on the back of his chair. “Look at you, caring about the state of my relationship.”

“Only as it pertains to me. I’d be just as happy if you ended things and took a vow of celibacy.” Curufin ruminated a moment. “More happy, in fact. Combine it with a vow of silence and we might be getting somewhere.”

“Thanks a ton, dude.”

“Anytime,” Curufin murmured, and opened his email as Celegorm closed the door behind him.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

 _From:_ _“_ _Curufin F."_   _< curufinwef@beleriand.edu>_

 _To:_ _“_ _Curufinwë_ _F_ _ë_ _an_ _á_ _ro_ _”_ _ <curufinwef@tengwar.net>_

_Subject: Re: troubleshooting_

_Dear Father,_

_I won't be able to tell for sure until it's compiled (which will take a while; my estimate puts it at 2 hours right now so I’m writing you while it does), but I think some of your suggestions will pay off in terms of improving the swap function and (I hope) getting rid of that loop error with which I’ve been having so much trouble. I appreciate the input._

_Apologies for the delay in responding; the school year has shown no signs of being a slow wind-up so much as a running start. But I am reminding myself of what you always say, that any class I end up in that ‘takes it easy' on me is probably not worth my time. The senior seminar I registered for is worthwhile, though I remain unimpressed with my classmates, for all they're two years older than me. The professor, at least, is suitably challenging. He initially seemed inclined to treat me differently from the other students, as I am the only sophomore, but after our first graded assignment he's seen the error of his ways and I am enjoying having my skill level acknowledged. It has made me no friends amongst my peers, but I am not in fact here to make friends._

_Tell Mother that my phone is not broken, I have simply been too busy to pick up, but that I appreciated her message. Yes, you can tell her, I am remembering to eat, I am remembering to sleep, and I have amazingly managed to keep myself alive for 19 years and shall continue to do so._

_You can vary the level of sarcasm in that last clause when you relate it to her, lest I be subjected to another long voicemail._

_In regards to your other questions:_

_-I read the WIRED piece and am not sure about the feasibility, but like you, will keep my eye on it._

_-Water on Mars itself does not shock me, but the implications are certainly significant. Do you plan on seeing The Martian? I am not usually much of a moviegoer, but I am tempted._

_-The washing machine is working well now. Thank you for having the repairman come by._

_-The stain on the downstairs bathroom ceiling has not grown. I think it was caused by the time Makalaur_ _ë_   _overflowed the tub upstairs rather than by any ongoing leak or seal issue. Provided we ban him from luxurious baths in the future, I do not think the water damage will worsen._

_-Yes, Nelyo is working/attending school. If he is being obtuse on the details, then it is not for me to reveal his current undertaking, but you can know that it is 1) not lucrative, and 2) apparently well suited to his temperament. Go figure._

_-I don'_ _t know what impression you have gotten from Morifinwë, but there is nothing_ _‘_ _going on'_   _with us. If you have gotten the idea that there is, I would simply remind you of his tendency for theatrics and moodiness and assure you that there is nothing that needs your attention._

_I will keep this email from getting over-long and sign off now, but I have attached an article from Ars Technica that you might find interesting. Let me know what you think about the fuel cell question._

_Sincerely,_

_Curufinwë_

_P.S. Tyelko is well._

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

He ran spellchecker through the email, then read it through a further time for good measure before hitting send with a mixture of apprehension and relief. It felt good being in touch with his father again, like slipping back into a well-worn favorite item of clothing. The suspicion that their contact might in some way be a betrayal of Celegorm, or a sign of his own weakness that he had gone back on his threat to his father, niggled at the back of his mind, but he tamped it down as best he could. Still preoccupied, Curufin jumped when a knock came at his door.

“Since when is my room the main attraction in this house?” he muttered, striding over to the door and yanking it open. “What.”

“Hi, Curvo.” Maedhros smiled at him. There were shadows under his eyes, Curufin noted, but the tension lines he sometimes got around his mouth weren’t there, which seemed a good sign.

“You look like you haven’t been getting enough sleep,” Curufin said, examining his brother. “But at least you’re eating well.”

Maedhros looked down at his midriff. “Are you saying I look like I’ve gained weight?”

“I never said that.” Curufin turned back into his room, letting his brother follow after him. “But I am familiar with the sorts of things Findekáno cooks. Hardly calorie conscious, no?” He sat at his desk and looked up to see his brother with a familiar expression of discomfort and restrained temper on his face, and allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. Pleasantries thus dispensed, he settled back in his chair and said, “What do you want, Nelyo?”

Maedhros sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned forward on his knees. “I have to take the Praxis test soon, for my teaching certification, and if I want to teach math at the secondary level I…well, I need to pass it in that topic.”

“I don’t know why you want to teach math at all,” murmured Curufin, spinning a pen between his fingers. “You were a history major or whatever, surely you’d be better suited to social studies.”

“There are far fewer positions for social studies teachers,” said Maedhros in the patient tones of one who had explained this many times before. “But there’s demand for math teachers, and at any rate, that’s where the opening was in my program. So math it is, but you know I haven’t taken a math class in ten years at this point. I was wondering…” He took a breath. “I know you’re busy, but might you be able to tutor me on some of the more advanced material?”

Curufin set his pen down on his desk. “You can’t remember middle-school level math?”

“I need to know through calculus for secondary education, and it’s been so long since I did any of it that I need a complete refresher.” Maedhros raised his eyes to Curufin, and Curufin saw that he looked embarrassed. “I would even pay you. A little.”

Curufin rolled his eyes. “Generous. Also unnecessary.”

“And,” Maedhros pushed on, smiling wanly, “it would be only fair. I did help you with your geometry homework way back….”

“I never needed help with math!” said Curufin, offended.

“When you were an eleven year old taking tenth grade math, you did. And I helped you, that summer I was home when dad was away.”

Curufin chewed his lip. “What is it you need help with?”

“Calculus, and algebra.”

Curufin glanced at his whiteboard, already crowded with tasks. “I don’t really have time to school you in two entire mathematical fields.”

“Just a little time – with the calculus, at least.” Maedhros leaned forward, pleadingly. “I was never strong at that even when I took it, and it’s been so long I can’t remember any of it.”

“You will need the algebra first anyway for the calculus to make any sense.” Curufin ruminated. “I really don’t have the time for this.”

Maedhros rubbed his forehead, looking tired. “I figured. But Curvo, I’m a little desperate here. I suppose I could hire a real tutor, though that gets expensive, or –”

“Moryo.”

“What?”

“Morifinwë. Our brother. Tall, dark, and moody. You know the one.” Curufin clicked his fingers impatiently. “He’s always been good at mathematics and I know economics majors have to at least be decent at algebra. Use him.”

Maedhros opened his mouth, and then closed it, looking thoughtful. “Huh. That’s not a bad idea.”

“You should still come to me for the calculus,” Curufin went on, “but since I don’t have time for more than an afternoon to dedicate to this, do at least the first part of your tutoring with Moryo. He knows what he’s talking about. After all, it was he who took over ‘helping me’ that summer when the math got over your head.” Satisfied, he turned back to his computer, finished with the conversation. Behind him, he heard Maedhros stand up.

“Thank you. And thank you for the suggestion." He hesitated. "Does this mean that you are no longer –”

“No longer what? No, don’t answer, just go away. I have work.”

“I’ll text you about when you and I might go over some of the calculus.” Maedhros paused by his chair. He didn’t touch him, but he laid his hand on the back of Curufin’s chair, as Celegorm had done. Maedhros started to say something, then stopped, patted the back of the chair in lieu of Curufin’s shoulder, and left the room.

The door clicked shut, and Curufin shook his head at his screen. “You’d think I was the damn guidance counselor to this house.” But he couldn’t help from smiling briefly before he turned to pick up his phone and send a text.

_Any interest in seeing The Martian when it comes out?_

_I don'_ _t like movies, but this one I think I could suffer._

_For science._

 

* * *

 

 

It had been a long enough since Celegorm had been to Oromë’s house that when he finally returned, he came through the unlocked front door feeling like an intruder. Oromë looked up from the counter where he was sitting, reading the paper. He looked down again as Celegorm leaned against the counter next to him, laying down the paper but not saying anything. There was a long silence.

Celegorm could feel the words he needed to say pressing against his throat, but his lips refused to open for them. _I_ _’_ _m sorry_ had never been a phrase he could speak with much eloquence, a trait, Aredhel had once said, that was no more endearing for the fact that it was apparently genetic. She had said as much one night when she had come within an inch of slapping him, a night when he would have happily accepted it as well deserved.

But still, he didn’t say the words – that night, or now.

“It’s been quiet,” said Oromë at last, “not hearing from you.”

It had been the longest they'd gone without speaking in over a year, and Celegorm had chafed at every minute of it. And part of him, unable to believe that Oromë could go this long without seeking him out, felt stung. “Back atcha.”

Oromë sighed. “I didn’t want to try and talk to you until I was less angry.”

“You less angry yet?”

“Yes. A little. Not totally.” Oromë glanced over at him. “You left someone here when you went, you know.”

Celegorm felt a flood of shame entirely unrelated to the fight. “You mean Huan. I – yeah. I was being –”

“Petty? Thoughtless?”

“Yeah,” mumbled Celegorm. “But also I knew if I brought Huan home with me, he’d just make me want to come apologize to you.”

“God forbid he encourage such a thing.” Oromë smiled humorlessly. “He’s a terrible dog like that.”

Celegorm braced himself against the counter, drumming his fingers on the formica restlessly. “For the record, I did try to come by earlier this week, but you weren’t here.” That had been another blow; swallowing his pride and guilt enough to come over only to find no car in the driveway, the door locked, and no dogs in the backyard. It had made him nervous, and then angry all over again. “Where the fuck were you?” It came out harsher than he’d intended, tinged with his apprehension.

“I was hiking with the dogs in the valley.” Celegorm felt a surge of relief at this, though he wasn’t sure what he’d feared Oromë had been doing. “I needed to get away and cool down a little.”

“I get that.” Celegorm glanced at him and then quickly away again. “Did it work?”

“Somewhat.”

There was another long silence, where Celegorm shifted and finally sat on the stool next to Oromë’s. Oromë wasn’t reaching out to him, and being this close and not touching was turning out to be worse than not being there at all. “I got the job,” he said at last, for something to say. “They called and made me an offer.”

At this, Oromë did turn, finally facing Celegorm full on. “They did? What answer did you give them?”

“I took it. I start next week.”

Oromë broke into a true smile. “That’s great, congratulations. I’m really glad you’re going to give it a shot, and I’m not surprised at all that they wanted you.” His fingers twitched, like he was going to take Celegorm’s hand, and when he didn’t, Celegorm ached. It was seeing Oromë restrain himself from coming closer that made him yield.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the words coming out in a rush, the tightness in his chest loosening as he spoke. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I went off like that, I don’t know why I lost it so bad, but it wasn’t…it wasn’t really about you.”

“I figured.” Oromë looked tired. “That didn’t make it any easier to hear, however.”

“I know.” Celegorm felt overheated, itchy, desperately uncomfortable in his own skin. “Those were shit things for me to say. I just get…scared sometimes. Sacred of losing you, or not really having you, or something.”

“You have me,” Oromë said.He tipped his head back, staring at the ceiling like it held answers, or perhaps it was just easier to look at than Celegorm, just now. Celegorm fixed his eyes on the way Oromë's hair fell down his back, over the crisp white lines of his shirt. “I don’t know what more I can do to prove it to you, but I want you to have faith in me, and in us. Jealousy doesn’t _work_ for me, Tyelko.”

“Yeah, well, I get jealous some times.”

“So I gathered. And I know there was more going on than jealousy, and that you’d just been thrown for a loop by that interview, but you don’t get to use me as your goddamn emotional punching bag. That's not fair. I don’t want to be afraid you’re going to use our relationship as collateral every time someone brings up your father and you lose it.” Oromë winced, looking as though he hadn’t meant to say as much as he had. “Sorry. I mean –”

Celegorm shrugged, resigned. “ You ain’t wrong.”

There was another long silence as Celegorm turned over what to say next, and Oromë said nothing at all, waiting for him to speak, or thinking, Celegorm couldn’t tell. Finally he fidgeted and turned pleadingly to Oromë. “Fuck, Oromë, can I just kiss you already? I’m so bad at talking.”

Oromë was unmoved. “Tough. Sometimes you have to do it anyway.”

Celegorm swore and ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m bad at thinking I’m good enough for you,” he said, too fast. “And I get scared that you’re going to figure that out at some point and realize I’m not worth it.”

Oromë reached out and took his hand then, and Celegorm felt momentarily drunk with relief at his touch. “You are worth it,” he said simply. “I can remind you of that, as often as you need to hear it, though it’s harder to do when you’re yelling at me.”

Celegorm held onto his hand, squeezing his fingers too hard. “Look, when you left like that – I can’t deal with it at all when you leave during a fight, I can’t –”

“I wasn’t trying to leave the argument. I was leaving to keep from taking you against the wall while we were that angry.”

“What the hell would have been so wrong with that?” Celegorm felt the anger rise again. “We have good sex, we always do, we –” _We_ get _each other in bed, even when other things are complicated. I can distract you from all the other shit when I_ _’_ _m in bed with you._

“We’ve never made love during a fight, and I don’t want to start.”

“Why not?”

“That’s what…” Oromë took a breath. “That’s what I used to do. In my last relationship we had issues and never dealt with them, and instead he’d provoke me into a fight and it would get vicious and devolve into sex, and we could pretend that was close enough to emotional closure that we could ignore the rest. It kept me in destructive patterns for longer than I should have, and in a relationship that should have ended a year or more before it did. I don’t want to start similar patterns with you. I want us to work through our issues, not fuck and fight through them.”

Celegorm pulled his hand back. “Except you refused to sleep with me and then didn’t get in touch with me for more than a _week_ , how is that working through anything?”

“You left in the night!” snapped Oromë. “You left without saying anything to me, no note, leaving behind the dog I gave you. What do you think that felt like? I was too angry to chase after you, and it also felt like you were giving me a clear message that you didn’t want to see me.”

“I always want to see you!”

“Then you shouldn’t have left like that.” Oromë controlled himself, and lowered his voice again. “It _scared_ me, Tyelko. And it hurt.”

Celegorm flexed his fingers on the counter, agonized.

“If you wanted to see me,” said Oromë softly, “you knew where to find me.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Please let me kiss you now,” mumbled Celegorm. “I’m so much better at that than at this.”

Oromë sighed. “Tyelko…” But Celegorm could feel already how much he wanted to, how he was already leaning into Celegorm’s space, and he stretched out his hand and let his fingers brush against Oromë’s arm.

Oromë turned to him and Celegorm slid off his stool and into Oromë’s lap, winding his arms around his neck and kissing him fiercely, repentantly, and Oromë held him close and kissed him back.  When they broke apart, Oromë buried his face in Celegorm’s hair, and Celegorm stroked the back of his neck, nuzzling against his shoulder.

“We can fight,” said Oromë, into Celegorm’s hair, still holding him tightly. “Even though I hate it, and it feels lousy, it’s okay if we fight, as long as we can…talk about it after. It’s bound to happen sometimes, especially since our tempers aren’t so different, even though I keep it together a bit better than you.”

“Just a bit,” Celegorm muttered against his shoulder. He pressed his mouth to the side of Oromë’s neck and pulled himself closer. He could feel there was more Oromë wanted to say, and he wasn’t ready for it, not yet. “I know you don’t do angry sex, but how about make up sex? Please?”

“There’s still more we should…” But Oromë was running his hands down Celegorm’s back, and Celegorm knew Oromë wanted it as much as he did. The physical was always, always easy for them, and Celegorm felt so much more at ease with touch than with talk. Touch came easy when words were a struggle, and Celegorm felt fluent in the press of fingers to Oromë’s skin, the warmth of his palms to the hard planes of muscle he knew so well, and the way Oromë responded to the heat of his tongue.  His body could say all the things that he couldn’t articulate, and with Oromë in his arms, Celegorm had no doubts. “…Yes.”

They didn’t make it further than the couch, Oromë pressing Celegorm down and kissing him hard, and Celegorm could tell that whatever he said, Oromë was still at least a little angry, given how tight his hands were on Celegorm’s denim-clad thighs as he slid between Celegorm’s parted legs.

“Okay, let me have it,” said Celegorm at last. “You’re still –”

“Still mad? Yeah, I am.” Oromë tensed against him, and Celegorm could see his jaw was tight when he pulled back to look Celegorm straight on. “We can fight, and we can get upset with each other, and I have faith we can work it out. But listen,” Oromë caught Celegorm’s face between his hands, and Celegorm held his breath, not sure what was coming next. Oromë’s eyes were very fierce, the banked fire of his anger stirring something in Celegorm. “No matter how pissed you get at me, you do not. Abandon. Your dog. Got it?”

Celegorm opened his mouth, surprised and ashamed, and Oromë laid a finger to his lips. “Non-negotiable.” Oromë’s voice had dropped into a register that rumbled all through Celegorm’s body, and Celegorm shivered, pressing unconsciously up into Oromë’s touch.

“Got it.” He reached up and twisted his fingers into Oromë’s hair, pulling him down for a kiss so he could taste his sincerity. “Really,” he whispered. “I do. I’m sorry.”

“I realize,” said Oromë after a while, Celegorm breathing hard beneath him, both of them shirtless, Celegorm’s hands slipping beneath Oromë’s waistband, “I could have answered you more clearly too.”

“Oh, yeah? Ahh, _ah_ , whatever, just…just keep…”

“It wouldn’t have mattered if anyone else had made a move on me,” whispered Oromë. “You are the one I wanted. You are the one I fell for. You are my great exception.” And when he covered Celegorm’s lips in a kiss, Celegorm had total faith.

 

* * *

 

 

Aegnor was half asleep, and Andreth allowed herself a moment of indulgence, her head coming to rest against his shoulder as he stroked a hand through her hair. She had to leave soon, she told herself; she hadn’t even meant to stay this long. Aegnor had said that Galadriel was going to be home by mid afternoon, and she had planned to be gone by then. But mid afternoon had come and gone, and Galadriel had returned and stayed, and they had done nothing but make sure the door was locked.

“You’re going to have to be quieter now,” Aegnor had whispered, his mouth at her ear, and his chest to her back, and she had reached back to wind her fingers into his hair.

“I can manage it if you can.”

It was far, far too comfortable in his bed.

Andreth shook herself and rolled away, and Aegnor blinked out of his doze. Not yet willing to get out of bed, but telling herself enough with the cuddling, Andreth sat up, naked against the pillows, and pulled out her phone to check her messages.

Aegnor glanced over at her and grinned. “Tits-out texting?”

“Balls-out bothering me?”

Aegnor made a face at her and reached over for his own phone, leaning across her lap in a not totally necessary sort of way and letting his arm brush across her breasts. Then he settled back and began flicking through his own messages.

They sat comfortably side by side for a while, listening to dry leaves flick against the window, until Aegnor’s phone buzzed with a new text. Andreth saw him read it, freeze, and then read it again, mouthing the words to himself.

“Holy _shit_.”

“What?”

“Holy SHIT.” Aegnor pushed the blankets back and half leapt, half fell out of bed, banging his knees on the bedframe. “Are you kidding me? Are you _kidding me_?”

“What?” Andreth had no idea if Aegnor’s reaction was elation or horror. “Dude – put some pants on and tell me what’s –”

“My brother.” Aegnor gesticulated like a madman. “That sneaky – I can’t believe it. Not a whisper. And. What. My fucking brother is getting –  Oh, that _motherfucker._ ”

“Getting what?”

“MARRIED.” Aegnor tripped over a pair of pants and lurched back up, wild-eyed.

Andreth’s mouth dropped open in shock, and then she paused. “Hang on, _which_ brother?”

But Aegnor, apparently uncaring, had wrenched the door to his room open.

“Aiko!” Andreth let out an exclamation and tugged the blankets up to her chin as the door gaped open onto the living room.

Galadriel was sitting on the couch, but so was Finrod, and the two of them looked up as Aegnor burst out of his room, naked.

Both of their eyes widened, and then Galadriel stared pointedly at the ceiling while Finrod fixed his eyes on the opposite wall.

“You seem to have forgotten your clothes, Aik –”

“ANGARÁTO IS ENGAGED.”

Galadriel and Finrod’s mouths dropped open.

“HE TELLS ME THIS BY TEXT. I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW HE WAS DATING ANYONE.” Aegnor gestured wildly, apparently unable to lower his voice to anything but a disbelieving yell. “WHAT IS HAPPENING?”

“That’s…a very good question,” said Galadriel, as her eyes fell on Andreth, who was contemplating the merits of a precipitate nude exit through the window. “Gosh.”

 

 


	67. Taking it slow, but it's not typical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we get some details, catch up with a couple old friends, find Bëor in a tight spot, and Nolofinwion feels happen. (Nolofeels? Nolofinwieels? Or: my life.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Warnings for discussion of alcohol abuse and (non explicit) past trauma.  
> 1\. The hot for teacher reference is Snartha’s fault.

They had managed to get Aegnor to put some pants on, but clothing was clearly not his priority. He was pacing the living room, waving his phone around, interspersing ferocious texting with equally ferocious expletives.

Andreth, after a moment of internal agonizing, had decided to embrace the awkwardness of the situation and stay around for the fallout. She had made an effort to do better than Aegnor in terms of wardrobe, padding out of his room wearing both pants and a shirt, though it was noted that neither was hers. Carefully saying nothing at all, Galadriel patted the couch next to her and Andreth tucked herself against the armrest and tried to be inconspicuous.

“How can Angaráto hear you if you’re waving the phone around?” Galadriel asked, turning back to her brother as Aegnor made some incoherent noises and gestured with his phone again.

“I’m not on a call with him, the dick! He can’t talk right now because he’s with her family, but he’s texting me. _Texting_ me! About the biggest news of his life, the rat.”

“I can’t believe he only texted _you_ ,” murmured Finrod. “Is he shunning the rest of us? And who is this girl?”

“Wait,” said Galadriel. “Before we go further….”

In twenty minutes, the circle of expectant audience had expanded to include Fingon, Celegorm, and Aredhel, all of whom had looked with brief curiosity at Andreth, and then turned their attention to Aegnor, who was still pacing around shirtless with his pants unbuttoned and exclaiming things like, “He’s doing this to fuck with me, I swear to god.”

“It’s obviously a prank,” said Aredhel, settling down in front of Andreth.

“It’s obviously a ‘condom-broke’ situation,” said Celegorm, leaning over the back of the couch.

“Shot-gun engagement?” Fingon looked intrigued as he shifted a pile of books and a dead plant to make room for him to sit by the window. “I could see it.”

“Who is the fiancée?” Finrod had his arms wrapped around his shins, chin propped on his knees. “Do we know her?”

“She’s this girl he met on the mountain, but I didn’t see her last year when I was out there.” Aegnor consulted his phone. “He sent a picture. DANG, okay, she’s hot.”

Andreth examined her nails studiously as Aegnor passed the phone to his siblings. It showed a pretty, round-faced girl with a mass of sun-streaked brown hair, her cheeks very rosy and her teeth very white, her smile infectious.

“She looks like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth,” said Galadriel, after some study. “What is she doing with Angaráto?”

“Well, so they spent a season working on the slopes together and started dating, but she comes from a kinda conservative family,” said Aegnor, taking the phone back and consulting his texts again. “Traditional, y’know? Anyway, sounds like they wanted to move in together, but her family was all ‘not without a ring’ blah blah, so he proposed to make it more conventional or whatever.”

“Hmm.” Finrod looked dubious. “That doesn’t sound like the best reason to get married.”

“That’s what I said,” said Aegnor, shaking his head in disbelief. “And he said it’s gonna be a long engagement, no rush, but he wants to spend his life with her anyway, so why wait to propose?”

“Is this the same Angaráto who broke up with a girl because she was a Giants fan?” Fingon was chuckling from the window seat. “Someone’s discovered commitment all of a sudden.”

“She’s pregnant,” said Celegorm, decisively. “Seriously. No way this isn’t a shotgun wedding.”

“I asked that. He said no. He also told me to shut the fuck up.”

Aredhel nudged Galadriel. “I totally thought you and Celeborn would be the first of us down the aisle, but your brother beat you out. All of us are going to lose money in our long-term betting pool!”

“Not me,” said Galadriel placidly. “I put money on either Aiko or Ango getting married first.”

“ _Me_?” Aegnor stopped his pacing for a moment. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” Galadriel brushed her hair behind her ear, her eyes only flickering slightly to the side, and Andreth crowded closer against the back of the couch. “I have amended my estimate a little, of course, but I think I shall still do well with my winnings from Ango’s engagement.”

“You always do,” muttered Aegnor. “You’re like a human magic eight ball. AHH, okay, update! He’s bringing her home for the holidays – so _presumably_ he’ll be letting mom and dad know – and we’ll get to meet her then.”

“That is excellent.” Galadriel clasped her fingers together between her knees. “I look forward to it. And, not that it matters, of course, but this way father can focus all his attention on the new fiancée instead of ‘Why are you not putting your beautiful mind to better use than in retail, not that there is anything wrong with retail, I just feel there are bigger things in store for you, Artanis, you have to pursue them, Artanis, do not waste your potential.’ ”

“Doesn’t he know you can get him discounts at Forever 21 now, though? That’s got to make up for it at least a little.”

“So true. I’ll bring him a pair of 40% discounted cropped knit pants and I’m sure he’ll move on, yes.”

“Home for the holidays,” repeated Aegnor, who wasn’t paying attention, putting his phone away and finally remembering to do up his fly. “All right, guys, we’ve got a month plus to get ready for this ‘Eldalótë’.”

 

* * *

 

Beleg shifted on the lumpy bed as he heard his phone buzzing on the floor where he’d plugged it in to charge. Moving carefully so as not to wake Túrin, he reached over the sleeping form next to him and grabbed his phone.

What they slept on was in truth not a bed so much as a grungy mattress, thrown down on the floor of the room that Túrin had been given in the latest house they were staying in. They relocated often with Andróg’s crew, and Beleg had yet to figure out the pattern or logic for when they moved; it wasn’t as though he was privy to such decisions. He was still only tolerated by the rest because of Túrin’s dangerous glower at any hint of anything less; not, Beleg thought, that he’d willingly leave even if forced from Túrin by gunpoint. He stuck to Túrin’s side like a burr, day and night, trusting no one with Túrin alone, though he smiled easily enough at the others. His smile had little effect other than increasing the wariness and distrust with which he was viewed, but Túrin ignored all of this, and Beleg pretended to.

Túrin never bothered to try and wrangle them two rooms, and two beds were almost always out of the question, so a shared, dank mattress it was. Beleg knew this was supposed to be a slight, giving them the worst room and the worst accommodation, but he could admit to himself, in the moments before Túrin awoke, that he in no way minded. A shared bed felt more like a gift than an insult, despite the reek of old body odor and smoke that clung to the bedding.

Now he looked at his phone and his heart sank; it was a text from Mablung, again. Multiple texts, in fact.

_Where ARE you?_

_Seriously I hear you say you’re fine and don’t want me to go to the police or anything_

_But do you see how that’s not totally reassuring?_

_If I could just see you I’d feel better_

_And less convinced you’re being held hostage or something_

Beleg hesitated, trying to figure out how to respond, and Túrin turned over next to him, wrapping an unconscious arm around his waist. Beleg closed his eyes. He didn’t sleep much these days, but Túrin did, deep and long with a furrow between his eyebrows and an arm thrown over Beleg.

Whatever else he did during the days, talking low with Andróg and moving houses every few weeks, looking older and harder and more closed off than ever, Túrin was still his old self in the night hours. He’d talk eagerly to Beleg, his eyes bright and clear and excited, his hands moving as he talked. Beleg would have stayed with him for anything, but especially for those times just the two of them, and for lying in the dark each night, listening to Túrin’s breaths.

He was well aware that he was being pathetic.

_Beleg, srsly stop ignoring my texts_

_Because I don’t KNOW if you’re ignoring my texts_

_Or if you’re in actual trouble._

Túrin stirred and yawned, and absently tucked his chin against Beleg’s shoulder as he started to wake up.

_Are you with turin_

“Why does your phone keep going off?” Túrin’s voice was rusty with sleep.

Beleg fumbled for the volume keys. “It’s just my alarm.”

“Nmm. ‘s loud.”

Beleg typed hastily, holding the phone low.

_I’m fine, I promise_

_Not sure when I’ll be back, but I really am ok_

_Srry to make you worry._

“Andróg said no contact with people back home,” said Túrin, who was fully awake now. His chin was still on Beleg’s shoulder, his arm over Beleg’s middle, and his breath was tickling Beleg’s ear. “They can use that to locate us. He said we should get rid of our old phones. That’s what I did.”

“I don’t take orders from Andróg,” said Beleg shortly.

“What about from me?”

“Are you going to order me to trash my phone?” Beleg rolled over so he could look Túrin in the eye. It brought them intimately close, their faces just inches apart, and Beleg was suddenly acutely aware of the warmth of Túrin’s skin, even through the thin tee shirt he was wearing. “Like you ordered me to start carrying a gun?” He was fairly comfortable around firearms, having competed in biathlons since he was twelve, but a handgun at his hip somehow felt very different from the smooth comfort of the light rifle on his back as he skied.

“No,” said Túrin, after a while. “I’m not going to order you to do anything.” He closed his eyes as Beleg drew in a breath. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

Beleg’s throat ached, and he yearned to close the distance between them, to run his fingertips over Túrin’s closed eyes to where his long dark lashes brushed his cheek; to touch his full lips, to tip Túrin’s chin up and lean closer, to taste his mouth.

But he didn’t.

His phone buzzed again, but he muted it without even looking at it, folding his arms around Túrin and drawing him close – but no closer.

 

* * *

 

Fingon and Finrod left Galadriel and Aegnor’s apartment together and walked side by side a while as they headed downtown to their respective apartments.

Fingon tugged his hood up over his hair and glanced at the dark sky. “Do you have plans for the night?”

“No,” said Finrod, putting his hands in his pockets. “I finished grading earlier and then I’d planned on seeing Curvo, but he’s got an assignment to finish.”

Fingon grinned, shaking a curl of hair out of his eyes, and looked sideways at Finrod. “I am not gonna lie, you and Curvo together still kinda blows my mind.”

“You’re not alone, there,” said Finrod softly.

Fingon nudged him. “You’ve had quite the year, haven’t you? Your Fëanorion fever might be even worse than mine.”

“Oh, _Finno_.” Finrod sighed.

Fingon ignored this. “Maybe it’s genetic, this need to get into Fëanorion pants. Do you reckon? Or maybe it’s their fault. I think it’s a trick they do with their eyes, actually. A hypnosis thing.”

“Or maybe we just like grey eyes.”

“That too.” Fingon laughed. “Our poor fathers must wonder where they went wrong that both of us ended up with our cousins at least once – and more frequently for _some_ of us.”

“My father doesn’t.”

“Oh, right, of course not; not always-understanding Uncle Arfin, who puts even my dad to shame when it comes to being accepting…”

“No, I mean,” Finrod cleared his throat lightly. “My father doesn’t know. About Curvo, that is. He knows I ended things with Amarië, but that’s the last I told him about my love life.”

“What?” Fingon pulled up short. “Seriously? You and Amarië broke up a _year_ ago. You haven’t told him about your new boyfriend?”

“No.”

“You’ve been dating for like 7 months!”

“And how long were you and Maitimo together before you told your families?” Finrod smiled crookedly at Fingon. “Glass houses, Finno.”

“That was totally different! Fëanáro had way more issues with my family than with yours, and shit was way more complicated back then, and I was like seventeen and an idiot– ”

“And you don’t think me trying to explain ‘how we got together’ might be a little complicated? Please trust me that it’s not something we’ve talked about yet. He thinks I’m just ‘concentrating on my studies’ these days.”

“But what about – yeah, okay.” Fingon subsided at the withdrawn look on Finrod’s face. “I won’t push it. But you’re, uh, you’re doing okay with yours? Your Fëanorion?”

“Yes.” A light broke over Finrod’s tired face. “Yes, I am.”

They stopped in front of Finrod’s apartment, and Finrod brushed a hand over his hair as a wind sprang up, kicking leaves down the sidewalk. “Any interest in coming up?”

“Sure, actually,” said Fingon, after thinking for a moment. “Maitimo’s doing lesson plans all night, and I figure I’ll let him have a quiet place to himself. Also I haven’t seen Turno in forever and I do try to make sure he’s alive periodically.”

“He and Bëor are planning a movie night, I think,” said Finrod, unlocking the door. “You’re welcome to join.”

Bëor and Turgon were ensconced in what, at first glance, looked like a fort. But then Fingon saw it was simply that they’d piled every pillow in the apartment on the floor, hung blankets over the windows – “It froze last night but our landlord won’t fix the radiator yet, so we have to insulate,” Finrod explained as Fingon’s eyebrows raised – and collected as much food as possible. There were also several six-packs of beer.

“Aw, you guys planned for company,” said Fingon, coming in behind Finrod, and immediately tripping over Ulmo Junior. “A whole six-pack, just for me?”

“Company?” Bëor pulled a jumbo bag of Cheetos into his lap. “Uhh, yeah, right. ‘Company’.”

“Finno!” Turgon sprang to his feet, tripped over Ulmo Junior in turn, and hugged his brother. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too, little brother,” said Fingon, reaching up to tousle Turgon’s hair. “I only 15% thought you were dead.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that 15% dead and med school are basically the same thing?”

Finrod picked his way carefully over the pillows and dropped gratefully onto the couch. Bëor patted his knee. “How’s it going, Goldie?”

“My brother is engaged.”

“No shit!”

Finrod reached over to take some of Bëor’s Cheetos. “It’s true. I was in my old place to do the crossword puzzle with my sister – ”

“Sure.”

“ – and then our brother – our other brother – ”

“Spiky.”

“Yes, him – comes leaping out of his room, stark naked and yelling.”

“Is this common in your family?” Bëor batted Finrod’s fingers away as he reached for more Cheetos.

“Our branch of the family is actually the least naked, generally. But he _has_ spent a lot of time with our cousins, and that sort of thing wears off. Anyway, Aiko comes out naked and yelling about a text he got that Angaráto is engaged.” Finrod shook his head. “Our parents are going to be so delighted, they’ve been wanting to throw another extravagant party for one of us ever since Artanis’ debutante ball.”

“You mean that graduation party they threw for you, with the ice sculpture and the customized champagne glasses wasn’t extravagant?”

“No, that was ‘low-key.’”

“Your family is wild, Ingo.” Bëor opened a beer. “You at all bothered that your kid brother is getting married before you?”

Finrod chuckled. “I always expected one of my siblings would get married before me, though my money was on Artanis. I don’t know if marriage is in my future.”

Fingon and Turgon had come over and Fingon sprawled out on the cushions with a beer while Turgon propped his back against the couch and sat on the floor.

Bëor nudged Fingon with a foot. “How ‘bout you, Mister Veep? How are you doing? I can’t even get a meeting with you half the time anymore.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Fingon took a swig of his beer. “I’ve been told I need to ‘delegate’ more.”

“Ooh, Mr. Big Shot…”

“Yeah, right.” Fingon didn’t look too pleased.

“How’s work been going?” asked Turgon quietly.

“Fine.”

“How’s work been going, Finno?”

Fingon let out a long breath. “It’s shit, honestly. And believe me, I feel like an asshole for saying that. But it’s like I fell into cubicle life 15 years before I was ready.” He stretched his legs out, putting his feet on the coffee table. “If I was ever gonna be ready. But I’m already career-track and enmeshed in this thing I never even _considered_ for myself, and I can’t cut and run. I’m trapped in a position people would kill for, and it’s not anything I even wanted.”

Bëor opened a beer and passed it to Finrod. “What did you see yourself doing instead?”

Fingon shrugged. “I dunno. Being on the campaign trail, maybe, doing grassroots work for some candidate or issue. Affecting change, not working as some corporate drone.”

“That sounds like a hard place to be in, mentally.” Turgon rubbed his forehead. “Have you talked to Maitimo about this?”

“Naw. He’s got enough on his plate right now, he doesn’t need my shit too.”

“But – ”

“You think he wants to hear me whine about my high-paying job that used to be his before he nobly sacrificed his career? He’s barely making a salary working his butt off in underfunded public schools and I’m _complaining_ about being too successful too soon?” Fingon gave a short bark of laughter.  “Yeah, sounds good.”

Turgon frowned. “It doesn’t matter, though, he’s your partner. He’d want to be there for you.”

“He’s there for me plenty.” Fingon shrugged again. “Plus, I got you suckers to bitch to, so I’m set.”

“And you wouldn’t want him to see you weak, would you?” said Finrod softly. He was lying as if half asleep on the couch, taking up most of it, though Bëor had lifted his feet into his lap in order to fit.

“What?”

“He’s always idealized you,” murmured Finrod, gazing at the ceiling through half closed eyes. “Strong, steady, fearless Findekáno…There is no part of you he doesn’t believe in, and he thinks of you as unshakeable.”

“Ingo – ”

“And to be fair, you are all those things – strong, reliable, brave – but that’s not all you are, are you? And not all the time. But you’re afraid of shaking his faith in you. You’re afraid of him realizing you are only human after all.”

Fingon narrowed his eyes, his face darkening. “You know it’s profoundly annoying when you do that, right?” he said, his words light enough but his tone unamused. “Psychoanalyze without being asked.”

“You know that he will love you even if you show yourself to be human, right?” said Finrod seriously, as if he hadn’t heard. “He doesn’t love you because he thinks you’re perfect, he loves you because you’re _you_.”

“He gets plenty of examples of me being human,” said Fingon shortly. “Knock it off, Ingo.”

“You don’t have to be flawless for him– ”

“Drop it,” said Turgon in a low voice, touching Finrod’s hand. “You’re right, but – Drop it.”

“Good call,” said Fingon, with false cheer, and a slightly dangerous glint in his eye. “So it’s a movie night, right? What are we watching?”

Some hours and two movies later, Fingon’s phone rang and he got to his feet to take the call in Turgon’s room.

When he came back into the room half an hour later, he caught sight of the figures on the couch and broke into a laugh. Bëor was sitting in the middle of the sofa, holding the remote control carefully and trying to turn off the TV without jostling the other two, who had fallen asleep against him. Turgon was tipped over against his shoulder, snoring gently, and Finrod had dropped to sleep against his other side, his long legs curled tucked up beneath him.

“Hold still,” said Fingon in a stage whisper. “I’m going to need a picture of this.”

Bëor made a distressed noise as Finrod curled more tightly against him. “For god’s sake, man, help me.”

Fingon ignored him, pulling out his phone. “Say, ‘There are two men who are each at least half a foot taller than me asleep on top of me’,” he said, grinning.

Bëor made a face instead. “And yet both of them combined probably weigh less than I do. I need to _pee_ , can you help me move them?”

“I’ll help you in just a sec,” said Fingon cheerfully, heading into the kitchen. He came back with a bowl full of popcorn, which he set gently in Bëor’s lap. “There,” he said, as Bëor glared at him. “Now you won’t starve to death! What should we watch next?”

“Fingon, you rat bastard. Can you help me shift them?”

“Getting Finrod _off_ a man,” Fingon shook his head sadly. “Never an easy task.”

Finrod’s eyes opened a slit. “I heard that.”

“Heard what?”

“The insidious whispers of a beloved cousin casting aspersions on my character and libido.”

“Shh, you’re dreaming.”

Finrod narrowed his eyes at Fingon, and then closed them again, burrowing back against Bëor’s shoulder. Bëor shook his head, then threw the blanket that was slipping off the couch back over Finrod’s legs, tucking it around his toes. Then he settled back and helped himself to a handful of popcorn.

Fingon was watching him, amused. “I thought you needed to pee.”

“I can hold it a while longer.”

“Pushover.”

“I’d like to see you say no to this one.”

“Easy, I do it all the time. I’ve been doing it since I was eight and he asked to borrow my bulldozer.”

Bëor smiled down at Finrod’s golden head again. “Then fine, I’m a pushover.” He tossed another handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Don’t tell the union boys.”

Fingon folded his arms. “They wouldn’t believe me if I did.”

“Are you gonna stick around?”

“No.” Fingon glanced at the clock. “I should head home to my guy and see if he’s ready to take a break from lesson planning to play a little ‘hot for teacher’.” He winked at Bëor. “I’ll leave you to your two string beans here.” He ruffled up Turgon’s hair one more time as he left, but Turgon barely moved.

Once the door clicked shut behind Fingon, Finrod opened his eyes a crack again. “Do you really need to get up? I can move.”

“Don’t worry about it, Goldie. I can wait.” Bëor rested his hand on Finrod’s leg for a second, then reached for the remote. “Now hush up, we’re gonna watch _Goodfellas._ ”

 

* * *

 

The room was illuminated only by the dim bedside lamp and filled with the rumble of the furnace from downstairs. The house was mostly quiet, its occupants either away or asleep, and Aredhel realized it must have been the heat kicking on that woke her; she had to have been drowsing off for almost an hour now. Netflix had stopped auto-advancing to the next episode, and her laptop had gone quiet, its screen black where it was perched patiently on the end of the bed. Scrubbing her hair out of her eyes, Aredhel rolled over and poked her toes against Elenwë’s legs. “Heyo. You awake?”

“Yes.” Elenwë’s voice was very quiet, and Aredhel realized that far from sleep-hazed, Elenwë looked like she’d been awake for hours.

She propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at Elenwë, still brushing her hair impatiently out of her face. “Sorry I fell asleep. Is everything okay?”

“Yes.” Elenwë smiled wanly, and then, seeming to realize this was unconvincing, sat up, Aredhel’s old _Tirion Field Hockey 09_ shirt slipping off one shoulder. “Everything’s okay.”

Aredhel scooted closer and snuggled against Elenwë. “Hmmm. You look like you’re thinking hard, though. What’s on your mind? More work stuff? Interviews?”

“I have my second interview with that company next week,” acknowledged Elenwë. “But I haven’t really been thinking about it.”

“What, then?”

“Nothing we need to talk about now.” Elenwë kissed Aredhel’s forehead. “I love you.”

“Um. I love you too.” But Aredhel frowned, raising her head from Elenwë’s shoulder. “Nothing we need to talk about _now_? Okay, that freaks me out more than ‘we need to talk’. Spill, El.”

“This isn’t,” protested Elenwë, “This isn’t how I wanted...I didn’t mean for…”

“Oh, come on. You know I’m not going to let it slide NOW.”

Elenwë caught Aredhel’s hand again and held it tightly. “I love you, Irissë. You know that, right? And I’m not going anywhere.”

“Wow, that’s a terrifying lead up.” Aredhel tried to laugh. “Now you are scaring the shit out of me.”

“I’m sorry, I thought I should lead off with the reminder. I only wanted to bring up something I noticed,” said Elenwë softly. “Just because it’s been worrying me a little. I mean, I think I’d noticed it before, but this summer… Every time we talked, you were drinking. Not _always_ ,” she amended, as Aredhel opened her mouth, “sometimes you _had_ been drinking, sometimes you were having a little bit of wine, whatever. Sometimes you were pre-gaming on your way to go out. Sometimes you were hungover. But you were always…”

“What was I always?”

“I don’t think you were ever sober when we talked.”

Aredhel sat back from Elenwë, her arms folded, her jaw set. “How do you know? Was I out of it?”

Elenwë shook her head. “No, you almost never are. You don’t…you never _look_ drunk.”

Aredhel rolled her eyes. “So what’s the problem? Almost everyone we know drinks and gets wasted at parties and stuff. Why do I get singled out?”

“It feels different,” said Elenwë, haltingly. “I’ve known you a few years now, and been in love with you for almost two, and I see patterns. You drink when you’re freaked out, you drink when you’re confused, you drink when you’re bored. And I know you’ve been chafing at the bit just working for your mom and staying around here, and I know this summer, us doing long distance, was hard. I worry that you drink more than you should, and maybe for reasons that – ”

“Up until last year, you drank too. Have you just gotten super judgmental now that you don’t get trashed at parties anymore?”

“I decided to stop getting trashed because I behaved like an _idiot_ a few too many times,” said Elenwë, a note of frustration in her voice. “But that was my choice, and it doesn’t have anything to do with what I think other people should do. I don’t think everyone should abstain – or even that you should! But I needed to let you know what I’ve been worrying about. I’m not going to tell you what to do, but I am going to tell you when I’m worried about something. And I do think there might be better ways of dealing with stuff than getting drunk and ignoring it. I know that, well, you’ve been having bad dreams again…”

“Okay,” said Aredhel flatly. “I am so not here to talk about this.”

“I didn’t mean for us just to launch into this,” said Elenwë weakly, “But I’ve been…I’ve been thinking about it since before I left. I saw the bottles, Irissë, when you were moving – ” She broke off, distressed, as Aredhel slid out of bed and began hunting for her clothes. “Irissë, where are you going, this is your room!”

“You know, somehow I’m not in the mood for this.” Aredhel yanked her jeans from the floor and pulled them on.

“Please let’s just talk,” begged Elenwë. “I just get scared sometimes, thinking that you don’t tell me, or anyone, when things are feeling hard or unpredictable, and instead… Did you ever call that therapist?”

“I’ve been _busy_ , Elenwë.” Aredhel grabbed her sneakers. “I knew this was going to happen. Jesus, I should never have told you about the stuff with Eöl if you were just going to read it into everything I fuckin’ do.”

“I’m not, really!” cried Elenwë. “I just…I worry about you! I worry that you, that you numb your problems instead of dealing with them, and I don’t – ”

“ _Jesus._ You sound like a talk show shrink.”

“Ireth,” Elenwë slid out of bed and caught Aredhel’s arm. “Please don’t leave, please let’s talk, let me explain…”

“It sounds like I’ve got the picture. You think I have a problem. You think I’m a drunk?”

“No! I don’t know! That’s not something I can say! But I’ve been worried, and I can’t just not say anything…”

_“Stop worrying.”_

“I didn’t mean to accuse you of anything,” said Elenwë, hands still wrapped around Aredhel’s arm, “I wanted to bring up something I’d noticed…”

“Okay, consider it brought up.” Aredhel turned on her heel, pulling free of Elenwë’s grasp, and took a furious step towards the door. There was a pained yowl of distress, and Aredhel froze, looking stricken. “ _Oh no_.”

A black streak flashed across the room to vanish under the bed, and Elenwë put a hand to her mouth. “Did you step on – ”

“I’m sorry, baby!” Aredhel dropped to her hands and knees and peered under the bed. “Kit kit, oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to step on you! Oh no…” She sat back on her knees as Lómion made no signs of reappearing, and Elenwë bent down to look too.

“Don’t,” said Aredhel in a muffled voice. “Don’t look, it’s okay – ”

But Elenwë was already kneeling down and lifting the dust ruffle. A crouching, shadowy silhouette with indignant pale eyes in the corner was Lómion, who looked mortally offended but not all that worse for the wear despite his stepped on tail, and next to him were –

Aredhel made a choked sound, and Elenwë slowly sat back up. “That’s a lot of empties, Ireth.”

Aredhel covered her face with her hands. “El.”

Elenwë scooted close and gently laid her hands on Aredhel’s knees. “Querida…”

“I made an appointment,” said Aredhel, from behind her hands. “I did, I was going to see Nienna. But then an hour before, I just bailed. I didn’t go.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know.” Aredhel dropped her hands but kept her head down, her hair falling forward over her face. “I didn’t want to go over it all again. I didn’t want to start over. And I didn’t want to hear what she would tell me.”

Elenwë’s fingers stroked gently over her thighs. “What would she tell you?”

“What you’re telling me.” Tears were rolling slowly down Aredhel’s face. “That I’m not…That I’m not healthy in how I… That I’m not done dealing with my shit, that I’ve got to keep dealing with it, and I _don’t want to._ She’d tell me…she’d tell me I’m not okay.”

“Do you think you’re okay?”

“I tried going to a meeting, once,” whispered Aredhel. “With – it doesn’t matter. And all I could think was, I’m not as bad as these old drunks. I’m not like them. But there were people my age there too, and I just pretended they were like me, just visiting with someone, or something… I never went back.” Her hands curled in her lap. “I didn’t want to belong there.”

“I don’t know that you do,” murmured Elenwë. “But maybe it’s something to think about, to work on, and – ”

“And it’ll be three years, this fall.” Aredhel lifted her head and threw her hair back over her shoulders, wiping a hand over her eyes. “Three years since New York, and what have I got to show for it?”

Elenwë scooted closer still so she could take Aredhel into her arms and pull her close. Aredhel stiffened, but then laid her head on her shoulder. “You have a lot to show for it.” Elenwë pressed her lips to Aredhel’s forehead. “You’ve done so much, and I’m proud of you.”

“Ugh.” Aredhel pulled away again and grabbed for a tissue. “Sorry, it's not you. It's just. I hate November. I hate daylight savings. I hate it being so _dark._ ”

Without saying anything, Elenwë got to her feet and slipped over to turn another light on. Lómion crept out from under the bed, the heat purred from the vent, and Aredhel hugged her knees and watched as Elenwë chased the shadows away.

 

 


	68. The first to leave and the last to know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanksgivings and families, historic and acquired. A holiday special episode, but with actual plot advancement!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. VERY EXCITING NEWS: For this special holiday edition of DWMP, my talented and beloved [Silje](http://cygnete.tumblr.com/) has leant her hand to an illustration for it! Gawbbless her and love her.

_Tuesday_

“So…what do I do if the polynomial is a negative? Okay, you have to stop gnashing your teeth.”

Caranthir closed his mouth and opened his eyes very wide. “I’m not.”

Maedhros sighed, brushing wisps of hair that had escaped his ponytail out of his face. He was beginning to look as frayed as Caranthir’s nerves. “I know you’re frustrated with me, but I need you to offer me just a modicum of patience.”

“I am 500% patient. I am _not_ frustrated.”

“You just bit a pencil in half.”

Caranthir spat lead in a sanguine way. “Don’t worry about it. Happens all the time.” 

From the living room came the sound of harmonica music; Maglor was sprawled out on the couch watching _Planet Earth_ with the volume on low as he tried to compose an overture for echinoderms, for reasons known only to him. At this moment, Caranthir found himself thinking that helping Maglor find a rhyme for ‘crinoid’ would be preferable to his attempts at pedagogy. The kitchen table was covered with textbooks and graphing paper, and Caranthir had already broken three pencils and a pen trying not to pull his own ears off in frustration. Maedhros, who had been up since 5am, had moved into the placid serenity of the fundamentally exhausted, but Caranthir’s leg was jiggling so rapidly under the table that an alarmed Huan had come in to look for an intruder.

Caranthir raked his fingers through his hair, then flattened it out, took three short breaths through his nose, and tried to smile. “Okay, if you remembered what I said 30 minutes ago about quadratic polynomials, you would know that – ”

“What rhymes with ‘Cambrian’?” called Maglor from the couch. “Well, ‘Pre-Cambrian’, but it’s not like the preposition matters.”

“Not now, Káno,” said Maedhros wearily. “Sorry, what were you saying about quadratics?”

“I wasn’t saying anything about quadratics. Pre-Cambrian I said. Ordovician, alternatively, that's another one I need.”

“I wasn’t talking to you.” Maedhros raised slightly hopeless eyes to Caranthir. “I’m trying to understand what Moryo is – ”

“Don't worry about me,” said Caranthir helpfully. “It sounds like Káno needs some help. Do you need me to get your rhyming dictionary, Maka – ”

“You’re trying to escape.” Maedhros sighed.

“No way. This is fun for me.” Caranthir stretched his mouth in an unconvincing smile. “Unless you need to take a break, of course?”

“I’m fine.”

“Super!” Caranthir reached for the textbook again, still grinning fixedly, and Maedhros looked at him with calm resignation.

“Moryo.”

“Yes?”

“Do _you_ need to take a break?”

Caranthir dropped the book to the ground and Huan darted over to sniff at it. “Jesus fucking asscrack, _yes_.”

“Then go to do that.” Maedhros sat back in the kitchen chair and massaged his temples as Caranthir shoved himself away from the table.

“Ambien!” he yelled into the living room. “And Venetian.”

“What?” Maglor sat up, harmonica dropping from his mouth.

“Like, ‘popped some Ambien in the Pre-Cambrian, went to the Ordovician with a Venetian’.” Caranthir swung himself around the bannister and headed upstairs. “For your dumbass song or whatever.”

Maglor flopped back on the couch, looking impressed, and started to scribble something in his notebook. Caranthir thundered up the stairs and Huan chased alongside him, excited for the sudden burst of activity. He kicked at Celegorm’s door as he passed it.

“Tyelko, your dogthing is being a freak again.”

“Fuck off,” Celegorm’s voice rumbled from inside. “And he knows he doesn’t get to stay in the room when I’m…busy.”

“Gross,” said Caranthir, and turned to the door across the hall.

Curufin was under his desk, trying to sort out a tangle of wires when Caranthir burst into his room. Curufin stuck his head out from under the desk and raised his eyebrows at the sight of his brother. Caranthir said something, and Curufin raised a finger, motioning him to wait for a second before taking a set of in-ear headphones from his ears.

“Anytime Tyelko has his _coach_ over, I take precautions,” he said, by way of explanation. “Well, anytime Tyelko is having sex, and/or Makalaurë is playing harmonica. Two birds with one silencer, and all that. Can I help you with something, Morifinwë?”

Caranthir threw his arms into the air. “ _How is it that everyone thinks Nelyo is smart?_ ”

Curufin rolled his eyes and got to his feet. “Don’t tell me. Polynomials. I have been dreading when my turn comes and I have to face him with integration.”

"Better you than me." Caranthir slumped against the closed door, groaning. “GOD, I spent most of my life feeling inferior to him, and the secret all along is that he’s an idiot!”

“Not perfect Maitimo!” Curufin smiled sardonically. “God forbid anyone overhear you speak ill of our dear righteous martyr.”

“Righteous or not, he’s thick as a plank when it comes to pre-calc. Makes you wonder what else he’s terrible at.”

“I know.” Curufin leaned a hip against his desk, shaking his head. “And the fact that he got the top position at Father’s company on the qualification of what, his birth order? His age? Honestly, sometimes I suspect he resigned less out of a misguided sense of noble self-sacrifice than fear of it being discovered that he couldn’t do basic math.”

“Hah.” Caranthir ran a hand through his hair. “Wouldn’t surprise me. Why the _hell_ is he trying to teach math? And on that note, what the fuck do they learn as poli sci majors? Because it’s clearly useless.”

“Oh, don’t even get me started. He should be teaching something that’s less of a stretch, like history.”

Caranthir cracked his knuckles, flexing his fingers as if trying to rid himself of a lingering tension. “Or gym.”

Curufin huffed out a laugh. “They say those who can’t teach…”

“Right? But he’s such a weedy nerd he’d probably be the kid who gets picked on in gym class, even as the teacher. On the bright side, we might find him swinging from a flagpole by his underwear.” Curufin laughed again, and Caranthir grinned. “Okay, but seriously, can I borrow your TI-89?”

“Sure. And for the polynomial stuff, there are a couple tricks that might ease the way some. Try this.” Curufin jotted down a couple notes on a scrap of paper.

“Oh, yeah, good call. And what about – ” Caranthir bent over the desk to look, picking up a pencil of his own to add some notations.

“Yes, but only after you get him solid on the first two. Do you still have your textbook? If not I can lend you mine, but the problems from chapter three might be good for him to work through.”

“Yeah, I was actually thinking about the problem set from chapter four, too.”

“Make sure he’s got the graphing function down first.”

“Yeah.”

Curufin finished scribbling out the notes, then passed them and the calculator to Caranthir as downstairs the bell rang. “Pray for me next week as I try to nurse him through integrals. And for now, godspeed with our eldest incompetent.”

“Thanks.” Caranthir glanced out the window at something and then smiled crookedly. “Say hi to Findaráto for me.”

Curufin paused, and then inclined his head. “Will do.”

He waited a moment before following Caranthir down the stairs. Maedhros was still at the kitchen table, and he looked up at them with a wry glance that indicated he’d heard their discussion and would make them pay for it at a later date. Grabbing his coat from the hook, Curufin opened the door and stepped outside just as the doorbell rang again.

Finrod was waiting for him on the front steps, wrapped in a handsome wool coat that made him look taller and more elegant than ever. The effect was heightened by the scarf tossed around his shoulders, and for what had to be the millionth time, Curufin felt like rolling his eyes in exasperation at how easy it seemed for Finrod to look attractive. Then Finrod smiled, and the urge to roll his eyes evaporated. Curufin took a step towards him as Finrod held out a hand, and was about to take it when the door opened behind them again.

Maedhros nodded briefly at Finrod and then addressed Curufin, who pulled his hand back from Finrod sharply. “Curvo, just a reminder – hey, Ingo – we’re leaving at for Formenos at 5:30, okay? Don’t be late.”

Curufin did roll his eyes then. “I never am, mother.”

“Can’t _wait_ to spend the next five days with you.” Maedhros smiled brightly, with a bit too much teeth, and shut the door.

Finrod laughed as they started walking down the front path. “Giving poor Maitimo a hard time today?”

“He brings it on himself.” Curufin shrugged. “He’s a big boy, he can take it.”

“So you’re heading home to your family for the holiday?” Finrod slipped his hand into Curufin’s, and Curufin let their fingers intertwine.

“Yes, we’ll be in Formenos through the weekend. I take it you will be home as well, meeting the sister-in-law to be?”

“That’s the theory.” Finrod shook a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. “Will all seven of you be back in Formenos, then?”

“Not Tyelko.” Curufin let go of Finrod’s hand to rummage in his pocket for a pair of gloves; it was getting cold fast.

“Ah. I thought he was no longer keeping his distance from your father, though, since he dropped the case and Oromë resigned anyway…”

Curufin shrugged. “He didn’t say he was staying away because of Father, but it wouldn’t surprise me. Mother’s going to be disappointed, but I couldn’t talk him out of it and I’m done trying to get in the middle of it all. Tyelko doesn’t hold grudges often, but when someone threatens something he cares about, he doesn’t forget. Though apparently he gives more weight to certain things than others – Anyway. He and Oromë are spending Thanksgiving with Oromë’s sister and her husband.” Curufin smiled thinly. “Tulkas.”

“Tulkas.” Finrod frowned. “ _Tulkas_. Wait, isn’t that – ”

“Our father’s arresting officer? Why, yes, yes it is.” Curufin’s face went blank for a moment as he remembered the day, years ago now, that the bulky officer had showed up at their front door, polite enough despite his dark uniform and the badge he flashed. He remembered his racing heart, and Celegorm holding him tightly around the waist to keep him from starting forward. He remembered how Nerdanel had refused to let the seven of them into the front of the house, keeping her body between them and the front door as Fëanor, cool and composed, had stepped out and presented his wrists for the handcuffs.

Curufin closed his eyes briefly, and then opened them again, refusing to let the memory affect him. “Will I be telling my father that particular detail of Tyelko’s holiday plans? I think not.”

“I don’t blame you.” Finrod was quiet for a moment as Curufin pulled his gloves on. “Speaking of telling fathers things,” he said, and Curufin looked up at the hesitancy in his voice. “I was planning on…on telling my parents about us.” He glanced over at Curufin, and Curufin saw he looked unnaturally anxious. “I hope it doesn’t bother you that I didn’t tell them sooner. I am close with my parents, or close enough, but somehow we don’t talk much about these sorts of things much. And I am…I am not proud of how I behaved in the months leading up to and following the end of my relationship with Amarië. I admit it has kept me close-lipped about my love life, fearing that questions about certain things might be raised, but I promise it has nothing to do with me wanting to hide you, or that I am somehow embarrassed of you. Of us.”

“I didn’t think that.”

“Good. I think it is about time my family knows who I’m spending all my time thinking about these days.” Finrod touched his own gloved fingertips to Curufin’s wrist. “I want to be able to go on about my – You.” He smiled, skirting around the word he had dutifully promised not to use, and Curufin’s stomach turned over. “I’m lucky to have you, you know? And I find myself having to bite my tongue not to talk about you, because I want to tell everyone just how – ”

“There’s no need for that.” Curufin felt alarmed, imagining Finrod discoursing at length about their relationship to shining ranks of expectant Arafinwions. “Honestly I’d rather you didn’t. Go on about me, that is.”

“I will limit myself, I promise.” The wind was rising again, tossing Finrod’s hair into his eyes. “But it is about time my parents knew who the important person in my life is right now. Don’t you think?”

“That’s fine,” said Curufin, who didn’t know what else to say. He shivered, and Finrod, whose cheeks were slightly pink, looked over at his bare throat, exposed over the collar of his sweater and pea coat.

“You didn’t bring a scarf.”

“Obviously not.” Curufin fumbled for the last button on his coat, but the collar was not high enough for it to do him much good.

“It’s winter!”

“It’s late fall,” Curufin corrected him.

“Whatever the technical season, it’s twenty degrees out.”

“Thank you, Professor Thermometer.”

“Worst superhero name ever.” Finrod started to unwind his own thick blue and white scarf, and Curufin put out a hand to stop him.

“If you insist on being chivalrous, I’m going to have to leave you.”

“Hush.” Finrod left the scarf half hanging around his neck, but tossed the other half so it draped around Curufin’s. Then he stepped close before Curufin could protest, and wrapped an arm around Curufin’s waist, brushing their foreheads together for a moment as his fingers settled against Curufin’s collar.

Curufin looked down at the scarf around his throat. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.” Finrod was still gazing down at him, their faces close, his expression so momentarily tender that Curufin forgot about the chill but shivered again anyway.

Then Finrod laughed and turned to face down the sidewalk, his arm still around Curufin as he started to walk again. “Keep walking, or you’ll strangle yourself.”

“Did you not consider the Isadora Duncan implications of this fashion decision? Honestly, Ingoldo, you are beyond ridiculous.” But Curufin kept pace with him and didn’t pull away, even leaning a bit into Finrod’s side.

Finrod hummed and pulled Curufin close as he strode along. “You knew I was ridiculous when you agreed to go on a walk with me.”

Curufin could think of no retort for this, so just kept walking, slipping the end of the scarf into his jacket and tucking his chin into its softness, still warm from Finrod’s body heat.

“Better?” asked Finrod softly, his breath a cloud in the cold air, his body very warm against Curufin’s side.

“I can’t complain,” Curufin said, and kissed Finrod’s cheek, quite surprising them both.

 

* * *

 

_Thursday, Thanksgiving Day_

Eldalótë shivered and tucked her nose into her scarf, her cheeks already rosy in the cold morning air. “Gosh. Do you all do this every Thanksgiving morning?”

“Some of us,” said Galadriel, who was standing in her pale blue coat without scarf or hat, letting the cold wind tangle her hair.

“By which she means that our mother and father have long since told us they’ll happily stay at home and start the turkey roasting if we take cheering duty.” Finrod slipped carefully through the crowd on the sidelines of the racecourse with two steaming cups and handed one to Eldalótë, who took it gratefully. “Are you prepared to see your fiancé under these circumstances?”

Eldalótë sipped her hot cider and wrinkled her forehead in some confusion. “Running a race? I’ve seen him run before, there was a 5k last – ”

“It’s not just the running."

“Alas. Brace yourselves, here they come.”

“I don’t see them,” said Eldalótë, rising up on her toes and craning her neck. “Are they in the crowd with – ”

“The mistake you’re making,” said Galadriel, taking Finrod’s cider and having a sip, “is looking for humanoids.”

The first wave of runners thundered past, and as Eldalótë looked baffled, a whoop came from the crowd.

“Gobble gobble, bitches!” yelled a familiar voice, and Eldalótë jumped, spilling some of her cider as two leggy runners in full-body turkey costumes sprinted past. One of them shook his tail feathers provocatively as he passed and Finrod and Galadriel each linked their arms through Eldalótë’s as she watched, speechless.

“Are you sure you still want to marry him?” Finrod murmured, as Galadriel handed the cup back and patted Eldalótë’s elbow comfortingly.

“At least any children you’d have would only have a fifty percent chance of being deranged.”

Eldalótë was laughing though, even as she shivered when a cold wind came up. “They look like they’re having fun! Oh my _gosh_ , it is so cold here.”

“Aren’t you from the Rockies? Aren’t you used to cold winters?”

“Colorado does _not_ feel this cold. Well, up in the mountains, maybe, but I live on the plains.” Eldalótë clutched at her cup for warmth. “New England November feels colder than any November I’ve ever experienced.” She craned her neck as another group of runners went past. “And are those people _naked_?”

“Oh, it’s probably just the thong brigade from Doriath.” Finrod and Galadriel didn’t bother to look. “At some point you’ll meet the rest of our cousins and things like nudity in twenty degree weather will stop feeling like a novelty.”

“But hold onto your innocence while you can,” said Galadriel and patted Eldalótë’s elbow again.

-

They came back into the big house by the lake on Túna, the five of them laughing and wind-chilled, to a wash of good smells and soft music from the stereo. Eärwen, with her bright hair and her quick smile, came into the foyer in greet them, rising up on her tiptoes to embrace her children, all of whom were close to a foot taller than her.

“Who won the Turkey Trot year?”

“We did,” said Galadriel, shrugging out of her coat. “Honestly, anyone there _not_ in a turkey costume running four miles was a winner today.”

“Artanis is just jealous of our athletic prowess.” Aegnor pulled off his hat and shook his head, his hair standing straight up.

“Like I couldn’t beat you in a footrace any day of the week.”

“Whatever you say, Nerwon’t.”

Angrod just smiled his slow, laconic smile, and said nothing, resting his hand on Eldalótë’s low back.

Eärwen, who looked as neat and well-put together in her plaid skirt and red sweater as she ever did in her lab coat, nodded at her children. “You should think about getting cleaned up and dressed for dinner.”

Eldalótë glanced nervously at Galadriel. “Of course! Um, is there a dress code?”

“Dress code?” Finarfin wandered in from the kitchen. He was nearly six and half feet tall, as blond and blue-eyed as his children, and one of the most handsome men Eldalótë had ever met. At this moment, in addition to his beautifully pressed slacks, he was wearing a hunter green sweater with an obese and jolly turkey on the front, over the words GOBBLE ‘TIL YOU WOBBLE. His children looked at him with fond resignation as he smiled, and Eldalótë blushed furiously. “You should wear absolutely anything you’re comfortable in.”

Eärwen leaned forward. “But if you need something slightly more concrete,” she whispered. “A dress or skirt with a nice blouse will be totally fine. Do you need to borrow a cardigan?”

-

A couple hours later, Eldalótë found herself seated around the table with six impeccably dressed Arafinwions. Galadriel was managing to make a sea foam green twinset and pearls look devastatingly fashionable and of the moment, and Finrod was wearing a dark red sweater that looked particularly striking with his coloring, despite being just slightly too short in the sleeves. Aegnor and Angrod, meanwhile, had earned their father’s pleased exclamations by coming down in matching turkey sweaters.

“Gobble gobble, bitches,” said Aegnor, offering his father a fist bump.

“Language, Aikanáro.” Finarfin tweaked his ear reproachfully, then took him up on the fist bump.

They all settled around the beautifully appointed dining room table, and Finarfin led them in a toast, raising his crystal wine glass. “To family, ever-expanding!”

“To new members, ever welcome,” added Eärwen, and clinked her glass against Eldalótë’s.

As the serving dishes began to make the rounds, Eärwen smiled at Eldalótë again and then turned her attention to Finrod, who was helping himself to cranberry sauce. “So Anairë tells me that Turukáno is dating Amarië. I was very surprised to hear it.”

“Less than a minute to mom getting down to business,” said Aegnor, passing the sweet potatoes. “Didn’t you miss it, Ango?”

Angrod grunted, grinning, and Eärwen ignored them both, her attention still fixed on Finrod. “Your good friend, and your former girlfriend. Isn’t that a little strange for you?”

“It took a bit of getting used to,” said Finrod lightly,” but I am happy for them.”

“Such a shame,” said Eärwen, looking sad. “You were very sweet together, and I half hoped…”

“Turukáno and I are still very sweet together, mother,” said Finrod, taking a bite of mashed potatoes.

“I meant you and Amarië,” said Eärwen patiently, “I did not mean that I hoped you would be dating your cousin.”

Across the table, Aegnor coughed, very much like he was covering a laugh.

“Your grandfather will be disappointed – he has always liked Amarië’s family – but I suppose I am glad Turno has moved on and found someone, at least. Don’t you feel you’ve been single long enough yourself, Ingoldo?”

Aegnor’s cough was echoed by Angrod.

“Don’t harass the boy,” said Finarfin, laying his hand over Eärwen’s and smiling at Finrod. “If he wishes to focus more of school than on romance right now, I have no complaints, especially if it means we can watch him get that PhD all the sooner.”

“I don’t know about the ‘Ph’,” Aegnor muttered to Angrod, “But he is getting a ‘D’ of another kind…”

Angrod choked, and Galadriel kicked him under the table. Eärwen narrowed her eyes at them. “What on earth is going on over there?”

“Angaráto has made his mashed potatoes into a phallus,” said Galadriel blandly. “It is, perhaps, Freudian.”

Eldalótë, who’d been watching and listening in fascination, brought her napkin to her mouth to muffle a giggle.

“Well,” said Finarfin loudly. “Who would like a drumstick?”

-

After dinner, Galadriel proposed a card game. Angrod and Aegnor immediately leapt to their feet, assuming defensive positions on either side of Eldalótë.

“Say no,” said Aegnor at once, grabbing Eldalótë’s hand.

“It’s a trap,” said Angrod, grabbing the other.

“Don’t trust Ingo, either.”

Galadriel contrived to look offended while Finrod poked his finger absently into the melting wax from one of the tall tapers on the table. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’re not capable of non-cutthroat gameplay,” said Aegnor, and Angrod put in, “Eldalótë’s not used to games of multiple solitaire that end in drawn blood.”

“Yeah, so tell Ingo to sheath his claws.”

“I’m not afraid,” said Eldalótë. “What did you say we were going to play? Multiple solitaire?”

They played Hearts instead and the game ended rather early, with Finrod losing gracefully and Galadriel looking like she was physically restraining herself from savage competition. Finrod drifted out of the room, and the rest settled down in front of the fire in the living room. Shuffling the card deck as they debated whether to play another hand, Galadriel bent over Eldalótë’s engagement ring. “It’s spectacular,” she said. “Well done, Ango.”

“Tell me true, Ango,” said Aegnor, who was lounging on the floor before the expansive fireplace, still too full to move much. “Did you sell your body on the streets of Telluride to buy that thing?”

Angrod, who was sitting next to Eldalótë on the loveseat with his arm around her, made a face at his brother. “I didn’t need to. It’s Grandmother’s.”

“What?” said Aegnor and Galadriel together.

“She said she wanted her first grandchild to get married to have it,” said Angrod casually, “and that was me.”

Aegnor’s eyebrows traveled dramatically towards his hairline. “Hang on. This means she would have had to know, beforehand, that you were going to propose.”

“And if Grandmother knew,” said Galadriel slowly, “Mother and Father must have known as well.”

“Boy, the kid detectives solve another case.” Angrod reached for his wine glass. “Yeah, I told them beforehand and they helped get me the ring.”

“ _Betrayal_ ,” said Aegnor, slumping back on the hearthrug and dropping an arm over his eyes.

“Everyone knew but us?” Galadriel let out a huff. “And kept it a secret, at that.”

“Aiko,” said Eärwen, coming in and putting an end to the conversation. “Why don’t you play some music for us?”

“Sure, you want some Deadmau5 or – ”

“On the piano,” said Eärwen pointedly.

Aegnor groaned. “Oh, come on, Ingo is the pianist, not me.”

“You took lessons for as long as he did.” Eärwen sat on the couch. “And anyway, Ingo is helping your father with the first round of dishes.”

-

As a rather loud take on Chopin came from the living room, Finarfin hummed to himself as he scoured a pan, while at his side, Finrod dutifully plied a dishtowel on the stack of clean dishes in the drying rack.

“So wonderful to meet Eldalótë,” said Finarfin warmly as he looked down into the suds. “So wonderful to see Ango that happy.”

“It is,” Finrod agreed. “They suit each other well, don’t they?”

“They seem to.” Finarfin handed the pan to Finrod to rinse and then dry. “It is such a treat to have all of you around, and then some! A real holiday gift, though so short… Maybe we can convince those two to stay an extra week; the first night of Hanukkah is the 6th, and – ”

Finrod was only half listening, concentrating on the dish in his hands, as he tried to work up his nerve to say what he’d been practicing in his head for the last several days.

“ – Angaráto will be spending Christmas with her family, so I think one could make a reasonable argument for them staying a little longer with us, especially if we offer to cover the cost of the flight change fee. Do you think – ”

“Dad,” said Finrod, laying down the plate to hide his shaking hands. “I wanted you to know that I’m seeing someone.”

It seemed to take a moment for this to intercept Finarfin’s train of thought. “Sorry, sweetheart, what are you seeing?”

“Not what,” said Finrod, holding the dishtowel very carefully. “Who. Whom. I am seeing.” He took a deep breath. “Sorry, I’m not being very coherent. I wanted to let you know I’m dating someone.”

“Oh!” Finarfin looked surprised, and then pleased. “Goodness, you did keep that news close, didn’t you? How long has this been going on?”

“A while,” said Finrod, wincing slightly as Finarfin looked even more surprised. “Several…several months. I just wanted to make sure of things, before I told you.”

“I understand,” said Finarfin slowly. “Certainly, I can understand wanting to feel secure, I suppose, in a relationship, before sharing the news too widely. Still, you know you can always tell us such things and we won’t hold you to them as permanent life installaments. I like to hear about your life, and I don’t need you to be coming to us for your grandmother’s engagement ring before you do!” He laid a hand on Finrod’s shoulder, then removed it quickly as he saw he’d gotten suds on Finrod’s collar. “That was a joke,” he said gently. “I won’t object to the rest of my children taking things slower than our Ango. But come, tell me about her! Who is this lady you’ve been seeing? Not Amarië, I assume, however your mother professes her wish that you’d get back together.”

“No, not Amarië,” said Finrod, flushing, and then forced his voice even. “In fact, he’s not a lady at all.”

“Ah, yes, forgive my presumption.” Finarfin dried his hands and retrieved the dishtowel from Finrod to start on the pile of drying dishes. “Tell me about him, then.”

“You know him, actually.” Finrod took a deep breath. “Curufinwë.”

Finarfin paused, and for a moment a look of profound confusion crossed his face. “Curu – Not – ”

“Curufin. Ah. Fëanáro’s son.” Finrod looked down at his hands, and he could feel his cheeks burning, unsure why he was so intensely anxious.

“ _Oh_.” Finarfin was very still.

“He’s – We’ve been together a while now,” said Finrod softly, afraid to look at his father. “We’re… I’m very happy with him.”

“Isn’t he quite young?” Finarfin sounded vaguely bewildered.

“He’s a sophomore at Beleriand. He’s younger than me, yes, but he’s very mature, very smart – brilliant, really.”

“Of course he is,” murmured Finarfin. “Fëanáro’s son, after all…” He leaned against the counter, looking thoughtfully off into the distance, apparently turning this over in his head, and Finrod shuffled his feet. At last Finarfin pulled himself up with a start and looked back at his pale face. “Oh, Ingoldo, I am sorry, don’t look so nervous!” He wrapped an arm around his son’s shoulders and pulled him close. “No, no, I was only processing, not judging or doubting, no fear. It took me by surprise, but then, I can always consult with my brother for advice on one’s child dating a step cousin.” He smiled, and Finrod smiled shakily back at him. “Thank you for telling me, darling. Please, tell me more about this Curufinwë of yours. What is he studying? What work does he hope to do? Is he good to you?”

“Yes,” said Finrod, and then passed a hand over his face, laughing faintly. “I’m sorry, give me a moment. I don’t know why I was so nervous to tell you this, but I built it up in my head and now I am all…flustered.”

“I understand,” said Finarfin, squeezing his shoulders once more and then turning back to the sink. “Sharing something close and precious is rather a leap of faith, isn’t it? There is always the risk that extending the knowledge of it to someone else will somehow mar that secret, precious thing, and make it less so. A daunting prospect, no?”

“Yes,” said Finrod, and settled back into his place at his father’s side as he retrieved the drying cloth. “But one must weigh against it the relief of sharing it with someone loving and understanding, who makes one glad that one chanced it.”

“High risk, high reward,” said Finarfin, and handed Finrod a crystal wine glass before kissing him lightly on the forehead. “The best things are.”

 

* * *

 

_Thursday, Thanksgiving Day_

_Across town_  

From the moment Oromë had tentatively suggested it, Celegorm had displayed only brash enthusiasm towards going to Nessa’s for Thanksgiving. He had not let himself think beyond the basics, ignoring Curufin’s comments as best he could and thinking only of the relief of not having to go home for the holiday. It was his “stubborn pigheaded avoidance”, as Curufin called it, that let him get all the way to Thursday without once thinking about the implications.

And so it wasn’t until they were standing outside Nessa’s front door and Oromë was ringing the doorbell, that Celegorm let himself remember the person Oromë’s sister had married. He didn’t give a shit, he told himself; it was a coincidence and ancient history, and why should he mind, anyway? But now, as a jovial voice called from inside the house, memory flashed through him at the speed of light.

_The barrel-chested police officer standing at their door; the glint of the handcuffs at his hip. Curufin, trembling under his arm as Celegorm held him tightly to keep him from running to their father’s side. Maedhros standing on the stairs, his face white and his hands tight; Maglor not watching any of it, leaning against the bannister with his eyes squeezed shut. Caranthir cursing under his breath as the twins pulled on his shirt and demanded to know what was going on. Nerdanel standing between them and the front entryway, her hands on her hips and her head high, and Celegorm's profound relief at the strength in her shoulders._

_“Everything is going to be okay,” she had told them, when the knock at the door came, and they had clung to her assurance even when they didn’t quite believe it._

Oromë glanced down at him. “Tyelko?”

_They had stayed like that, frozen behind Nerdanel’s strong back, until the door closed again and the car had driven away. Then Curufin had shuddered so hard in Celegorm’s arms that Celegorm thought he might collapse, and then he had pulled away from Celegorm and been sick all over the floor._

And now the police officer who’d arrested his father that day was standing before him, smiling and cheerful in a loud sweater, his ruddy face almost a match for his ginger hair.

Tulkas held out his arms, beaming at Oromë. “Brother!”

"Tulkas."

Celegorm stood still on the step as Tulkas and Oromë embraced, Tulkas clapping Oromë on the back and letting out a booming laugh. “Come in! Come in, and introduce me!”

 _We’ve met_ , Celegorm almost said, but of course, Tulkas wouldn’t have seen him that day, four years ago.

 _I told you so_ , Curufin’s voice murmured in his head. _I told you that you should have just come home with us._ _But you were too stubborn, weren’t you?_

Celegorm almost broke and ran, but then Oromë was wrapping a strong arm around his waist and his familiar touch brought Celegorm back from the edge of panicked memory. Rooting himself against Oromë’s side, he shook himself and smiled.

“Hey,” he said easily, reaching to clasp Tulkas’ hand. He hesitated just a moment before saying, “I’m Tyelkormo. Good to meet you.”

Oromë must have sensed some of his inner tension, because he kept a hand on the small of Celegorm’s back as they went into the house, which was rich with the smells of a cooking meal.

“You okay?” Oromë murmured, as Tulkas strode ahead, calling out to Nessa. “You look pale.”

“Yeah, give me a sec.” Celegorm took a deep breath, steadying himself with his palm braced flat to an end table.

Oromë put both hands on his waist, looking down at him and studying his face. “We didn’t talk about the fact that my brother-in-law was involved in your father’s case, did we?” he said softly. “We should have. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” But Celegorm closed his eyes and rested his forehead briefly against Oromë’s shoulder. He tried to let Oromë’s familiar warmth, the scent of his aftershave, and the solidness of his hands soothe the racket from his brain.

_Get the fuck over it, why don’t you?_

Oromë raised a hand to touch Celegorm’s cheek, and then to tilt his chin up. “What do you say, baby? You going to be okay?”

“ ‘Course.” Celegorm opened his eyes and tried to smile. “You know me.”

Oromë bent down to kiss him, and someone cleared their throat. They looked up, and Nessa was standing in the living room doorway, her arms folded, but with a twinkle in her eyes.

“Oromë,” she said. “Would you care to bring your partner into the kitchen for a drink?”

“Or we could just let ‘em make out in the living room,” said Tulkas appearing at her side with two glasses in one hand and a bottle in the other, and winking.

Oromë looked embarrassed, but Celegorm laughed. “I’ll take you up on the offer when we know each other better,” he said, dropping into easy jocularity and shoving everything else down. “But for now I’ll try and be a good house guest and take you up on that drink you mentioned.” He pulled away from Oromë, and Tulkas gestured to him.

“Come on, then!” Tulkas was not a tall man – Nessa had several inches on him – but he was a big one, and his sweater strained to contain the broad expanse of his belly as he draped a companionable arm over Celegorm’s shoulders. “Oh hang on, weren’t you two bringing some fresh-killed critters of some kind?”

“There’s a rabbit dressed and ready to go,” said Oromë, looking around for the cooler he had set down. “But I talked Tyelkormo out of bringing the raccoon he bagged.”

“There’s good eating on those,” Celegorm put in. “Rich and fatty and – ”

“ – too big to fit in the cooler,” said Oromë. He murmured to Nessa as they all came into the kitchen, “You’re welcome for me letting you dodge that one.”

“Oh, I’ve cooked raccoon in this oven before,” said Nessa unconcernedly. “Remember that summer you were twenty six?”

“Honestly? No. Between the concussions and the partying, all of ‘02 is kind of a blur.”

“That explains why you went hunting in the vacant lot and came back with what you told me was a ‘proto-bear’.”

“Listen, morphologically speaking I wasn’t far off.”

Tulkas shook his head, chuckling, and nudged Celegorm. “When they break out the reminiscing, it’s time to start drinking. You want wine or brandy?”

Celegorm swung himself into a chair. “You wouldn’t happen to have whiskey, would you?”

“Of course! Hang on, Oromë, is he old enough to drink?”

Oromë made a pained noise and Celegorm grinned. “Don’t worry, Chief, I may be only seventeen but I’ve got a convincing fake ID.”

“Oromë, you are a sick man.” Tulkas laughed as he poured Celegorm a generous tumbler of whiskey, and Oromë leaned against the counter next to Nessa, shaking his head.

“This was your idea,” he murmured, watching as Celegorm and Tulkas clinked glasses, but he was half smiling.

“How better to welcome him to the family?” Nessa nudged him and handed him a baster. “Now help me keep the turkey from drying out.”

Oromë did as he was told, and Celegorm laughed with Tulkas and drank deeply and began the work of forging a new memory to replace the old. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Happy Thanksgiving to my American turkeys! I am supposed to run my own Turkey Trot today and it is forecast to be 14 degrees and snowing, so I am looking forward to four miles of freezing my giblets off. Wish me luck! Still, this time last year we were without power or running water and ate Thanksgiving dinner in the Indian restaurant downtown, so on the whole this year is better.


	69. Chilling in the dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good news, hard conversations at ice rinks and on couches, Curufin meets the fuse box, a peek at dwarvish brewing practices, and a mean cliffhanger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Warnings: The first scene has smoochiness and insinuations, but nothing explicit. Second scene discusses alcohol abuse. Fourth scene depicts some cheerful alcohol consumption by characters NOT in the second scene. And that is your warnings forecast, folks.

1.

Fingon stepped into the dark apartment, shivering as he pulled his keys from the lock.

“Goddamn, it’s cold,” he muttered, as he slipped out of his jacket and crossed to the thermostat to check the temperature. He turned it on and gave a sigh of relief as the furnace rumbled on and warm air began to rush from the vents. Dragging a hand through his hair and undoing the top button of his shirt, he sat down tiredly at the kitchen table, not bothering to turn on the lights. He bent down to take off his shoes, then kicked them across the room and laid his head down on his folded arms, closing his eyes. He knew he should start getting dinner together, or at least call in a take-out order, but he couldn’t drag himself out of his chair yet.

It had been another long day.

The lights were still out by the time the furnace kicked off, leaving the house warm and silent but for the ticking of the clock and the faint dripping of the tap that Fingon had been meaning to fix for a month now. Then the silence was broken by a jingle of keys and the sound of the door opening with a blast of cool air as Maedhros came in, unwinding his scarf from his throat and dropping his bag to the ground.

“Finno! Findekáno, are you home?” He sounded breathless and excited, a tone Fingon hadn’t heard in his voice since he couldn’t remember when.

Fingon raised his head, blinking his vision clear. “Yes, I’m here.”

“Why are the lights out? Were you asleep?” Maedhros clicked on the overhead light, and Fingon could see at once that his face was shining. “Oh, there you are.”

“Here I am.” Fingon stretched and yawned, and looked up at Maedhros. “You seem…peppy.”

Indeed, Maedhros looked like he was barely holding back his excitement. “Finno, guess what?”

“What?”

“I _passed!”_

It took Fingon a second to process this, and then his eyes widened. “The – ”

“The Praxis! I passed the test!” Unable to contain himself, Maedhros pulled Fingon from the chair and into his arms, and swung him around. “I am not a total failure! I may actually pull this off!”

Delighted, Fingon whooped and hung onto him. “Congratulations, babe, I knew you could do it!”

“And it only took two tries, as Curvo reminds me. But I never have to be tutored by the brat again!” Maedhros hugged Fingon close and kissed him. “This means I can finally take time off without feeling guilty, like every free second has to be spent studying.”

Fingon feigned a swoon. “My god. Does this mean you’ll watch Netflix with me tonight? And eat terrible cheesy junk even though it’s not ‘brain food’?”

“Yes.” Maedhros set Fingon down and kissed him again, more slowly. “I will lounge with you, and eat crappy food, and waste time, and not feel guilty. And I will linger in the shower with you too, and, mmm, go down on you…”

Fingon groaned, half laughing as Maedhros carefully nibbled the tip of his ear then slid his hands down Fingon’s back to knead his ass. “Oh my god, I am so happy for you.”

“I’m sorry it’s been so long,” Maedhros whispered into Fingon’s hair. “I’m sorry I’ve been too tired and stressed to – ”

“It’s okay.” Fingon ran his hands through Maedhros’ hair. “Seriously, Mae, I totally understand, and I’ve been pretty wiped out too. Naw, don’t sweat it, I don’t actually base how much I love you on how often we have sex.”

“I’ve missed it, though.”

“Me too,” Fingon admitted, and then laughed as Maedhros lifted him up once again, giving his buttocks a firm squeeze as he did. “Where are we going?” he purred, nuzzling into Maedhros’ hair as he wrapped his legs around Maedhros’ waist.

“Couch.”

“Mmmm.” Fingon nuzzled Maedhros’ throat. “I like the sound of that. Damn, for the willowy teacher type, you are stronger than you look.” Maedhros was still carrying him, only laying him down when they reached the couch and he could stretch out between Fingon’s legs. “What’s the plan, Mr. Fëanorion?”

Maedhros rolled his eyes. “I told you, no role play if I ever want to be able to hear students call me that without turning bright red.” He kissed Fingon’s neck, and the two of them indulged in some long, clinging kisses before Maedhros pulled back again. “But hey, thank you for being patient with me. I know it’s been a stressful few weeks. Months.”

“No problem, you know I’m here for you.”

“I do. And Finno…”

“Yes?”

“Let me return the favor.”

All of a sudden Maedhros’ voice was very serious, and Fingon looked up in surprise. “Uhh. Okay?”

Maedhros brushed the hair out of Fingon’s eyes. “How are you doing?”

Fingon cocked his head. “I’m doing…all right.” He looked suspiciously at Maedhros. “Seriously, I thought we were moving towards you worshipping my glorious ass, if your groping was anything to go by. Are we shifting to playing nurse instea – ”

“How was work today?”

Fingon stiffened as his playful mood dissipated rapidly. “It was fine.”

“Have you noticed,” said Maedhros softly, “that those two words are the most you’ve said about work in over a month? And even before that, I hardly heard anything.”

“I’m not going to bore you with details you already know, Nelyo.”

“I understand not wanting to dwell too much on it, or avoiding mentioning something that feels stressful,” said Maedhros, gentle but relentless. “But I can tell you’re not happy. Talk to me about it.”

“I – what is there to talk about?” Fingon started to get angry. “It’s a job, it’s a fucking job, whatever, I make good money, I pay our bills – ”

“Findekáno, you could work as a barista and we’d still pay our bills. We’d have to slim down some, but we’d manage. Especially next year when I’m making a full teacher’s salary.” Maedhros looked down at him, implacable. “I’m here. Talk to me, and take money out of the equation. How is it working for your dad?”

“What is there to say?” demanded Fingon again. “I’m – I’m doing the job I have to do. I’m helping my father. I’m…setting up the company succession.” He drew in a shuddery breath. “It’s not what I planned, but whatever, it could be worse. I can’t complain.”

“Yes, you can. Just because it could be worse doesn’t mean you forfeit your right to feel unhappy.” Maedhros touched Fingon’s cheek. “I know your dad, and I know he wouldn’t want you to do something that made you miserable. He wants you to be happy, no matter what – you reminded me of the same thing, once, about my own father. And you were right.”

“What my dad would tell me and what he needs are different things,” said Fingon miserably.

“That sounds familiar.” Maedhros shook his head, a teasing grin on his lips as he nudged Fingon. “And to think _I’m_ the one who gets the reputation as a martyr.”

“Nelyo – ”

“Why force yourself to suffer? You know money doesn’t need to be the thing that keeps you at Finwë Corp. We’ll make do. We both have savings, I’ll be making better money soon, we’ll be fine.”

Fingon gave a strangled laugh and buried his face in Maedhros’ shoulder. “I don’t want to do this.”

Maedhros stroked the back of his neck. “To which ‘this’ are you referring?”

“Talking about this. Thinking about this. Talking and thinking about this everything. Let’s go back to being happy for you.”

Maedhros sighed and kissed him again. “You are always there for everyone else. Why won’t you let me be there for you?”

“Look, I’m going to keep working for my dad, until he retires, and then I’ll take over. That’s the plan. That’s how it’s lined up. It wasn’t what I thought it would be, but life never is, right? Now please, please, let’s stop talking about it.”

“We can..."

"Good."

"...for now. But I’m going to keep checking in. And you have permission to rant, all right? To whine and yell and bitch and moan about this sucky position you’re in, and I’ll be here for you, no matter what, no matter what you decide to do. But don’t cut me out, _use_ me. Vent. You are allowed to vent.”

“Fine, I’ll do that,” said Fingon, mentally preparing not to do so.

“Oh, really, I got you to agree that easily?” Maedhros looked like he knew exactly what was going on in Fingon’s head.

Fingon rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. “You know you can’t just make every burden lighter, right?”

“It’s what you do,” said Maedhros quietly. “I don’t care if you brush me off now, but when you’re ready, I’m here.”

“Yeah,” said Fingon, his tone gentling. “I know that.”

They lay together quietly, Fingon pulling Maedhros close to him and Maedhros nuzzling against his hair. Maedhros’ phone buzzed, but Maedhros silenced it without looking.

Fingon broke the silence. “Actually, can I ask you something now?”

“Anything, love.”

Fingon waggled his eyebrows. “You mentioned, at one point, gosh, can’t remember when exactly, something about going down on me…”

“Here, or in the shower?” said Maedhros at once, and Fingon grinned.

“The shower is _so_ far away.”

At once, Maedhros slipped lower on the couch and began busily undoing Fingon’s belt, ignoring his phone, which was buzzing again. Fingon closed his eyes and dropped his head back on the armrest, feeling, to his surprise, a little lighter already.

* * *

 2.

Celegorm sat down on the bench at the side of the rink, wiping an arm over his sweaty forehead. Aredhel did another figure eight out on the ice before coming to a perfect hockey stop in front of him, sending a shower of ice chips into his eyes. He shook his head and grabbed for her, dragging her down into his lap as he growled, “Stop showing off.” She laughed and let him grapple her for a moment before wriggling free and dropping to the bench beside him.

“Pooped out already?” she asked teasingly, as he bent down to start unlacing his skates. “Does this mean you don’t want to start a new pick up game?”

“Can’t feel my toes anymore.”

“Ahh, whatta wimp. When I was a child,” she drawled. “We used to walk to school in the driving snow, over boundless ice, uphill and down, and did you ever catch us whining?”

Celegorm ignored her, massaging his frozen foot and grimacing, and Aredhel kicked her skates against the ice. “So we’re done for the day?”

“I fancy keeping all my toes, so yeah.” Celegorm stretched out his legs and groaned. “Also I am tired of falling on my ass.”

“It’s a good thing you’ve got some padding back there.” Aredhel examined her mittens serenely. “ _I_ haven’t fallen at all.”

“Like I said: show-off. It’s cold and it’s getting dark and there are too many kids here. What say we go home and make some hot lemon whiskeys?”

Aredhel went quiet, looking down at the toes of her skates, and Celegorm nudged her. “Hm? I said, how ‘bout we head home and make – ”

“Yeah, I heard you.”

Celegorm raised his eyebrows and pulled his gloves back on. “What, want something other than whiskey? We’ve got rum, too.”

“Um. That’s it, actually.” Aredhel rubbed the back of her neck, still not looking at him. “I’m actually trying to…cut back?”

“On what?”

“Drinking?”

Celegorm laughed. “Right, sure. I’ve been meaning to tell you I’m going vegan, myself, and – ”

“I’m serious, Tyelko.” Aredhel didn’t meet his eyes. “I’m trying to drink less.”

Celegorm paused. “Seriously?”

“Yes.”

Celegorm rubbed a gloved thumb over his lips. “Uh. Okay. Is this, like, you hinting something to me?”

“What?” Aredhel looked up and stared at him. “No. I mean, other than hinting that I might be… It’s just that I want to drink less, or should, anyway.”

“Why?” Celegorm was still looking suspicious. “Everyone drinks a lot in their twenties. It’s like, the norm. So you party some, who the fuck cares? You don’t drink more than I do.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Oh come on, I can outdrink you any day of the – ”

“I’m not talking about us getting weird at parties every once in a while. I drink more than you, Tyelko. Like on a daily basis. And I drink differently than you do.” Aredhel clenched her mittens in her hands. “But I’m not going to just argue with you about just how much of an – heavy drinker I am. That’s something I’m still kind of having a hard time quantifying, anyway. But believe it or not, this isn’t about you.”

“I – ” Celegorm looked at her, and saw how bright and angry her eyes were. “Shit, don’t get upset. I am just a bit confused, ‘k? This came outta nowhere. I never thought you had a problem.”

“Me neither,” snapped Aredhel, and then visibly calmed herself. “That’s not true. I’m pretty good at hiding it,” she said softly. “And I still don’t know…a lot of things. But I’m trying…”

“So what, you’re not drinking as much? At all?”

“I’m trying for less, to start. That’s what they say to try. They say if you can’t manage to cut back, if it’s got to be all or nothing, that might be an indicator.”

“Of what? Who says that?”

“I’ve been going to some…meetings.”

“Meetings. Like, shit, all that ‘My name is Bippy and I’m a drunk’ thing?”

“Yes, _all that_.”

“Oh.” Celegorm fell silent, and Aredhel chewed her lip, her eyes flashing fiercely. “Does this mean I shouldn’t drink around you?”

“You can do whatever you want,” said Aredhel shortly. “God knows I’m not going to judge you.”

“No, I mean, like, will it be hard for you?”

“I don’t know.”

“So if it is hard, does that mean you won’t come out with me anymore? Go to parties? Come to – ”

“I don’t _know_ , Tyelko, okay?” Aredhel stood up, forgot she was on skates, and slipped, almost falling. Celegorm half rose to steady her, and she yanked away from him. “This is really fucking new, and it’s really fucking hard, but I’m _trying_ , because Elenwë said – ”

“Oh, well, _Elenwë._ She doesn’t even drink anymore! Don’t you think she probably just doesn't wanna be left out at parties anymore, just wants you to join her in abstinence, or whatever?”

“No! Don’t talk about her like – she didn’t bring this up because – god, I shouldn’t have said anything.” Aredhel jammed the tip of her skate into the ice furiously. “I’m trying to work on getting better, okay? I’m finally going to that shrink whose name you gave me – ”

“I thought you’d been seeing her since this summer!”

“I lied.”

“But – ”

“I lied, asshole, I lied, because I am not doing okay, got it? You know hot mess me, the me who came into your room drunk and crying and freaking the fuck out? That’s me _most_ of the time, even though usually I’ve got enough of a handle on it that I don’t _look_ like that. You know me being self-destructive with you, and going too hard, and being all fucking insecure about Elenwë and me, and having nightmares and losing my temper and being an asshole when I get scared – none of that is just _separate_ from my drinking. All of it is tangled up together, and I can't keep pretending I have it under control. That doesn’t mean that’s what’s going on for you when _you_ drink, or for anyone, but it is for me, and that’s what I’ve been realizing with Nienna, and at the meetings, and everything. And if you’re going to be a thickheaded _asshole_ about it, then forget this.” Aredhel turned and started to move away, bending down to fumble the laces of her own skates, but Celegorm jumped up.

“Hey, wait! Irissë, I’m sorry, I’m being an idiot, like usual. Hang on, don’t go, gimme a chance to be less of a dick. Please.” Celegorm took Aredhel’s mittened hand carefully, and when she didn’t pull away, he stepped closer, emboldened. “I’m sorry,” he repeated softly. “I was acting like a fuckin’ meathead. Let’s get changed and go home, and make some hot…cocoa, and talk. You can fill me in, and I’ll do a better job of listening, promise.”

“I don’t know if I want to talk more right now.” Aredhel looked down at the ice, but left her hand in Celegorm’s.

“That’s cool.”

“I just need you to not give me shit, all right?”

“I won’t. Like, on least asshole behavior, if possible.”

“If you promise.”

“I _promise_. To try, anyway.” Celegorm crossed his heart and glanced towards the road, looking thoughtful. “Also, now I think on it, let’s _not_ go back to the house. My brothers are hanging decorations and it’s a shitshow. I’m supposed to go to Oromë’s tonight anyway, come over and we’ll make hot drinks there.”

“Won’t he mind?”

“Naw, he won’t be back from the mountains ‘til dinner time. And he doesn’t even keep booze in the house, so that makes that easy.” Celegorm grinned awkwardly. “Outta sight, outta mind, right?”

“Yeah, right.” But Aredhel smiled faintly, and moved closer just as Celegorm’s phone rang.

“Ahh, hold on. Stupid gloves. Uh. Hang tight, Ireth, I better get this.”

* * *

 3.

Maglor stretched out on the floor and groaned. There were strands of lights and battered Christmas tree decorations strewn across the floor, and Maglor’s keyboard was unplugged in the corner, punishment for one too many renditions of ‘Carol of the Bells but with, like, a subversive twist.’ A fire had been coaxed out of the drafty old fireplace, and Huan was snoring in front of it while Maglor languished by the couch. “ _Please_ can we plug them in yet?”

“Not yet.” Curufin was fiddling with the LED board, his tongue between his teeth. “There are a couple more adjustments to make…”

“This was such a mistake,” said Maglor to the ceiling. “When I agreed to do decorations with you, I thought we’d just be putting those net lights on the bushes out front and setting up the smokermen in the windows. Hanging some greens. But nooo, Christmas decorations with Curufinwë means – ”

“Dedication,” said Curufin, pulling out a screwdriver.

“ – means getting them out AGES later than I wanted, because _someone_ wants to set up a light panel with remote controls and a timer that syncs to the sound levels in the house, and – ”

“ _And_ that syncs to go on half an hour before sunset each day, _and_ that I’m getting partial credit for in my EE 114 class. Shut up and go make more molasses cookies if you’re so antsy.”

Instead, Maglor rolled over on his stomach and propped his chin on his hands. “I don’t even know what the lights are going to look like. Will they spell something out?”

“Maybe.”

“Like a holiday greeting?”

“Sure.”

“Or?”

“Or a message from the Borg.”

“ _Curvo_.”

“Just kidding.” Curufin spun the screwdriver. “Probably. Will you bring me that soldering iron?”

Maglor grabbed at something at random and passed it over, still stretched out on his stomach.

Curufin sighed deeply. “That is a wire stripper.”

Maglor groaned again and fumbled amongst the items littering the floor until his hand landed on something that made Curufin click his tongue and gesture impatiently for him to hand it over.

As Curufin set to work on something that involved the smell of burning rubber, Maglor curled up on the floor and drowsed, still humming _Carol of the Bells_ under his breath. When he woke up, twenty minutes or twenty years later, Huan had joined him in a warm sprawl of legs and fur, and Curufin was nudging him in the ribs.

“Makalaurë. Wake up, it’s time to test them out.”

Maglor yawned and sat up, then sneezed as dog hair got in his nose. “ _Phthoo_. Okay.” He looked around blearily. “You rigged it all up?”

“Yes. It’s connected to the outdoor lights _and_ the tree.”

“And what does the light board say?” asked Maglor warily.

“Plug it in and see.”

Maglor plugged it in.

Every light in the house went out.

“Well,” said Curufin brightly. “Time for some troubleshooting. Give me ten minutes with the fuse box.”

“You take way too much pleasure in this,” said Maglor, dropping back, and leaping immediately up again as he landed on Huan. “Hey, is this your phone that keeps ringing?”

“Stay away from my stuff,” Curufin called from the basement.

“Shan’t,” said Maglor, and answered it.

* * *

 4.

Telchar squinted at the computer screen, running her hands over her arms as she studied the numbers. “Is this accurate?”

“Of course it is.” Caranthir propped his head on his hand and looked at her from the other side of the desk. “Have I ever steered you wrong?”

“Too soon to tell.” Telchar poked at the screen. “This is seriously how much we’d make with the holiday promotion?”

“Yep.”

“That would potentially get us within 10% of being out of debt.”

“I know.”

Telchar rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I tend not to believe things that sound too good to be true.”

Caranthir shrugged. “I can’t help you with that personality flaw, but – ”

“Insubordination, son. How dare you tell me I have flaws?”

“ – I can just tell you what the projections say. Do the holiday promotion, and launch the PR blitz on the Imperial Mithril Pale, and you’ll make back at least 66%.” Caranthir waved a piece of paper at her. “I ran the numbers.”

Telchar leaned back in her chair. “Boy, we are not paying you enough, are we?”

“I’ve been saying that for months.”

“On the other hand, you are an uncertified undergrad, and I don’t even know if it’s legal for us to be using you on our books…”

“Legality is overrated, Telchar.”

“Oh, that is so what I want to hear from my accountant.” Telchar kicked him lightly under the desk. “But despite your questionable ethics, your numbers are rock solid. I’ll tell Azaghâl to launch the Imperial Mithril campaign ASAP. In the meantime, you want to take a tour of the floor and check out some of the new experimental batch we’re brewing?”

“I have an essay due tomorrow.”

“Is that a no?”

“No, that’s an ‘only if you let me drink it.’”

Telchar and Caranthir strode into the room that held the vast copper vats that held the fermenting hops, Telchar talking all the while about the new attempts they were making at increasing alcohol content without increasing the cost of production, and Caranthir jotted notes and drank samples with equal concentration.

After a certain number of samples had been consumed, a certain number of notes taken, and Telchar and Caranthir were staring to talk very loudly about dark beers, Azaghâl stomped across the floor to them.

“Okay, you two, out.”

“Azaghâl,” said Telchar, narrowing her eyes and wagging a finger. “I am your superior.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“I am older than you.”

“That’s true, but irrelevant. Either way, get outta here, we’re working and you two are loud and distracting. Take your young piece back to the office and you can do whatever you want there.”

"My young what?"

Caranthir snickered, and both Azaghâl and Telchar looked up at him in surprise. “Did you just laugh?”

“I haven’t ever heard the long ‘n’ angry laugh.”

“Shuttup,” said Caranthir, and buried his nose in his beer.

Back in her office, Telchar perched on the edge of her desk while Caranthir leaned up next to her, and they shared a pint glass of the Longbeard Lager.

“Is it hard to work with Azaghâl?” asked Caranthir after a while.

“Why would it be hard?” Telchar rested an elbow on Caranthir’s shoulder and peered at him. His hair was growing out and hanging into his face and she blew at his bangs until she could see his eyes.

“Because he’s family.”

Telchar frowned, still leaning on him. “I’ve been working with family all my life, boy. Family means you can fight more, sure, because you know their weaknesses all the better and you’re not afraid to use ‘em, but it has more pros than cons, in my experience.”

“Hunh. Not in mine.” Caranthir thought a moment, tilting his head as he pondered. “Maybe that’s not true. But like, I’d kill my family if I had to work with them here.”

Telchar ruffled his hair as his dark head tipped towards hers. “That’s good, because your family would be terrible at brewing.”

“They would not.” Caranthir glowered, his heavy brows pulling together. “My father is the best engineer Beleriand has ever seen, you think we couldn’t brew?”

“I would _never_ say such a thing.” But the way Telchar chuckled made Caranthir turn to her, frowning more darkly still.

“You’re making fun of me.”

“No.” Telchar poked him gently in the chest. “I’m just teasing a little.”

A flush was rising on Caranthir’s cheeks. “Same thing.”

“Not really.” Telchar’s hand went flat against his chest, pressing warmly against him. “Friends can tease a bit, just like family. Just because I tease doesn’t mean I don’t take you very seriously, Caranthir.”

Caranthir swallowed, raising his eyes to her face, and the dropping them again, fixing instead on the dragon tattoo across her collarbones. “Uh. Okay.”

“But one of the things you learn – especially working with family,” Telchar’s voice was light, “is that a bit of teasing between close friends is acceptable.” Her hand brushed up his chest to rest on his shoulder. Then she chuckled and tapped him on the point of his shoulder before pulling her hand back. “But if it’s not welcome, I’ll restrain myself.”

Caranthir looked at her a long while and she met his eyes, her own dark and twinkling.

“No, it’s fine,” he said at last. He smiled suddenly, swiftly. “My family _would_ be shit at beer. They’re totally the wrong kind of snob.”

Telchar laughed and leaned back against him, and it was as they shared another glass of beer – Durin’s Deathless Stout – that Caranthir’s phone rang.

“Speak of the devil,” he said, and answered it.

* * *

 5.

The sky was slate grey and threatening snow, but inside the large house was warm and brightly lit. Amras hung over the back of Amrod’s chair and groaned until Amrod looked up in annoyance.

“Do you mind?”

“No. I am so bored.”

“Dude, do your homework. That’s what I’m doing. And Dad said if we start it before dinner more consistently, he’ll increase our allowance.”

“Oh, whatever, you priss. You’re just trying to be the new Curvo.”

“I am too tall to be Curvo.” Amrod tossed his head, his bright bangs falling over his forehead. “And way more socially adept. But if his position as smartest in the family is going to be threatened, it will be by me, not you. Dumbass.”

“See? You are so fucking mean. You _are_ Curvo.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“ARGH.” Amrod jabbed at Amras with a pencil. “Stop distracting me, asshole! I need to do this outline. Don’t you have a chem make-up test to study for?”

“My teacher said I could do a project instead, because I told him I am ‘bad at taking tests’.” Amras hefted himself on the chair back and let his legs swing. “So I just gotta come up with some b.s. project.”

“You _are_ bad at taking tests.”

“See, I’m not even lying.”

“I think you just never study.”

“Mom thinks I have stress-induced dyslexia.”

“Maybe. But you’re also a lazy ass.”

“And you’re a bitch.”

Amrod groaned and put his head down on his notebook. “Will you please let me finish this problem set?”

“A minute ago you said it was an outline.”

“I have _both_ to do.”

“Fine.” Amras dropped to the ground and wandered across the kitchen. He pressed his nose to the sliding glass door, steaming it up. Amrod turned back to his book and notes with a sigh, only looking up when he heard the sound of the door opening.

“Where are you going?”

“Out back. Dad might have some good stuff for that chem extra credit project.”

“Out back as in out back in dad’s workshop? Don’t be stupid. You know he told us not to go back there.”

“But I wanna go back. And he won’t let me if I ask…”

“That’s because he doesn’t trust you with his stuff.” Amrod flipped his pencil between his fingers. “Seriously, ‘Russa, just do some lame dry ice thing for the chem project and you’ll get at least a solid B-minus.”

“That is so boring. I’m gonna find something more interesting. Dad was like the top chemical engineer of the century, why would I not take advantage of that? I’m going out back.”

“Whatever,” said Amrod, turning back to his work. “But I’m not bailing you out of you get in trouble.”  

Amras made a face at him and disappeared into the darkening backyard, his bright hair the only thing Amrod could see in the gathering dusk as he headed to the outbuilding in the back of the yard where Fëanor had his workshop.

Absorbed in his work, Amrod only looked up again when Nerdanel wandered in, covered in clay and looking happy. “Hello, chick!” She kissed his ear, dropping a bit of clay onto his shoulder. “Homeworkin’?”

“Yeah.” Amrod propped his chin on his hand. “Good day in the studio?”

“Yes! Everything was listening to me, which let me tell you, was such a novelty. At least I can sometimes get my wheel to cooperate even if I can’t get my boys to.”

“Well, it helps that it has no higher consciousness or free will.”

“Free will is overrated, dear heart.” Nerdanel picked the clay off his shoulder and went to run herself a glass of water. “Which is what I told your brother when he complained that I wouldn’t let him take my car out.”

“Yeah, he whined about that to me. What’s for dinner?”

Nerdanel groaned. “I swear I just made dinner 24 hours ago. How do you feel about microwave soy pizza bites again?”

“Mooom.”

Nerdanel to crossed the refrigerator. “Such a picky little chicken.” She opened the fridge door. “Let’s see. Leftover lasagna, leftover broccoli, leftover soup…”

“Barf.”

“Thankless ingrate. We’re going to reheat some lasagna and I’ll make garlic bread, will that satisfy you? Don’t answer, you don’t actually have a choice. Where’s your brother?”

As Amrod opened his mouth, he was cut off by a muffled noise coming from out back, a rattling crash, a sound like something falling. Both Amrod and Nerdanel looked at each other, confused.

Then a new sound filled the air, this time horribly unmistakable, and they both went dead white. They were across the room and wrenching open the door in the time it took for the noise to reach their ears. Outside, it was even louder.

Screams were filling the air, the horrible, blood chilling screams of someone – someone familiar, someone whose voice was immediately identifiable – in unbearable agony.

And they were coming from Fëanor’s workshop.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. This chapter posts ahead of the week I will be spending on business trip, and I will be wrapped up from Sunday to Friday! I may post some other stories I’ve been sitting on, and/or do some drunk conference hotel room writing, but no dwmp update while I’m gone. This puts me on schedule to post next on Christmas Eve, but I may endeavor to move the update earlier if I can swing it. Apologies for the cliffhanger, and thanks for your patience with me! December through early January is super busy for me (after the conference I will be flying back and forth across the country twice to visit family and friends) and I may be slower to post/respond to things.
> 
> I still live for your comments even if I am slow to respond, they are my sweet sweet crack <3


	70. In the bleak midwinter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really didn’t intend for this to be my very merry Christmas Eve chapter, but that’s how my update schedule worked out…I am sorry! I am going to try to make up for it tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Warnings for hospitals, injury, and all sorts of associated tension and family angst that one could expect. Plus an argument. Have I said sorry yet?  
> 1\. To make up for it, there’s, like, quite a lot of hugging.  
> 2\. Also: I can no longer find the 'insert horizontal line' button on AO3 and I am devastated.

**5.**

Maedhros came into the waiting room, wild-eyed, his sweater inside out and his jacket trailing from one hand like he’d grabbed it and then forgot it needed to be worn to be effective. “Where is – what happened – is he – ”

Maglor, who’d been watching the door with such intensity that his eyes were watering, leapt up at once and seized his arm. “Hey.”

Maedhros clutched at him. “Where – ”

“Mom and dad are with him in the ER,” whispered Maglor. “We haven’t heard anything.” He flinched. “I mean, when I say we haven’t heard anything – not literally. Nelyo, it’s really – ”

Maedhros grasped Maglor by the elbows. “ _What_ , Makalaurë?”

“We could hear him for a while,” said Maglor, his usually warm, melodic voice cracking. “I think he’s, um, he’s in a lot of pain, I heard… he was screaming a lot, and mom and Telvo said that’s how they found him…”

“ _God_.” Maedhros’ jacket fell to the ground, unheeded. “What did they say? Is he going to be all right?”

“Ye – I think. I don’t know. I mean.” Maglor struggled. “He’s not going to _die_ ,” he said, his voice so faint that Maedhros had to bend forward to catch the last word. “But we don’t know a whole lot beyond that.”

“And what – ”

“Maitimo,” said Maglor, as Caranthir made a noise behind him, “you’ve got to help us with Telvo.”

Maedhros released Maglor’s elbows at last, as if just remembering that the others were there, and turned to his other brothers. Amrod, who was still only in a tee shirt and jeans despite the cold night, was wide-eyed and shaking in a chair, being more or less restrained by Caranthir. “Why won’t they let me in,” he was saying, in a thin voice. “Why won’t they – if anyone should be there – I _need_ to be with him.”

“They can’t,” said Caranthir, who had tried to drape his sweatshirt over Amrod’s shoulders, raising hopeless eyes to Maglor and Maedhros. “They weren’t even gonna let mom and dad back there until dad threatened to sue them blind. They’ve got it under control, Ambarussa, it’s going to be okay.” His voice lacked conviction, and Amrod shook all the harder.

“He was calling for me, I heard him.”

“They can’t have too many people in there while they’re working to help him.” Maedhros sank down in the chair on Amrod’s other side and pulled Caranthir sweatshirt more snugly around Amrod’s shoulders, trying to still his brother’s ceaseless trembling. Maglor sat on the other side of Maedhros, on the edge of his seat, hands wedged between his knees. “We wouldn’t want to get in the way, not when they’re doing all they can for him. He’s going to be alright,” Maedhros said, touching Amrod’s hair. “First Drengist is the best hospital in the state.”

“I told him not to go back there,” said Amrod in a voice of dread calm, remarkably even despite his fingernails digging bloody half-moons into his palms. “I told him. He didn’t listen to me. I should have stopped him, I should have told mom, I should have gone with him – ”

“It’s not your fault! It was an accident.” Maglor leaned forward, trying to see Amrod around Maedhros’ shoulder. “He knew he shouldn’t go back, and he did anyway, and it was a mistake, that’s all…”

“Went back _where_?” said Maedhros, his curiosity getting the better of him. “Where did this happen, and _what_ happened? Will someone please fill me in?”

Amrod tried, once again, to get to his feet, and his brothers hauled him back down.

“Dad’s workshop,” said Maglor, who had reached across Maedhros to seize Amrod, his hand tight on Amrod’s arm. “The accident happened in dad’s workshop.” Amrod stopped fighting them eventually, and Maglor sat back. He ran a hand through his hair, which was hanging lank and loose rather than in its usual ponytail or held back by a bandana. He pulled a strand of tinsel out of his hair almost absently, looked at it without recognition, and laid it on Maedhros’ arm. “We were decorating the house when mom called,” he said, by way of explanation, when Maedhros raised an eyebrow. “Curvo blew a fuse. Literally, I mean. But the tree is all set up. And there’s a message in the lights,” he added, pointlessly.

“A message?”

“The family motto.   _Tenn’ Ambar_ – ”

Maedhros let out a weak, choking laugh. There was a long silence, as Maedhros tried several times to start a question, but each time failed to finish it. At last he sank his head into his hands. “My phone rang three times before I answered it,” he said to his knees. “I can’t believe I sent it to voicemail.”

“You’re here now.”

“Where’s Tyelko?”

Curufin, who had been curled silently in a chair across the room, saying nothing and keeping his eyes fixed a potted plant by the door, stirred. “No one called him?”

Maglor and Caranthir exchanged glances.

“I forgot.”

“I started to, but then I hung up because you guys had just pulled up out front.”

Curufin tightened his lips. “He was going to Oromë’s for the next couple nights; it’ll take him a while to get across town. Someone hand me a phone.”

“You don’t have yours?”

“It’s dead,” said Curufin. “Give me a _phone_ , we need to call him.”

He was halfway through dialing when Nerdanel came through a door into the waiting room, and their heads swiveled as one towards her.

“They’ve transferred him to a room for now,” she said without preamble. “He’s still conscious, for now.”

They all rose to their feet, but Nerdanel shook her head. “Not all of you, not yet,” she said. “But he’s asking for Telvo. Come here, chick.”

Amrod walked to her side on shaky legs, Caranthir’s sweatshirt slipping from his shoulders, and she wound an arm around him as she led him back through the door. Caranthir grabbed the sweatshirt from the floor, stuffed it under his chair, and then let out a breath and slumped back in his seat, running distracted fingers through his hair. “God, I have the worst headache,” he said, and then looked embarrassed, like a headache shouldn’t be cause for complaint when their youngest brother was –

“I have some Advil,” Maglor said, and fumbled in his pocket.

Caranthir took the proffered pills and swallowed them dry, then slumped down, massaging his temples.

Curufin was still clutching a phone in one hand, but seemed to have forgotten about it, instead shifting restlessly in his chair. “I hate hospitals,” he said, his voice brittle.

“Gosh, how unusual,” Caranthir said, his fingers still at his temples. “Me, I _love_ hospitals.”

Curufin shot him a look but didn’t reply. “I feel worse just walking into one of these places,” he muttered. “Are we even sure they’re places of healing? If you aren’t sick when you go in, you’re bound to be when you come out. It smells like death.”

“Shut up,” Caranthir snapped at him. “Don’t fucking talk about death when our little brother is – is – Just shut up, stop being such a selfish little pig.”

“I forgot that a cheery demeanor was a prerequisite for waiting to hear if our youngest brother is going to come out of this okay,” Curufin shot back. “Would you rather I sing and dance?”

“I’d rather you shove – ”

“Shut up,” said Maedhros, “both of you.”

They both closed their mouths and turned bitter looks on him. Maedhros met their glares implacably, and then his tone softened. “I know it’s hard,” he said. “I hate waiting too, and not knowing what’s going on is terrible, and I’ve never liked being in hospitals either. Can someone finish the story of what happened, please? I feel like I missed some details.”

“We don’t know that much either.” Caranthir’s jaw was working, a muscle jumping in his cheek.

“Pityo went into dad’s workshop,” said Curufin, fixing his eyes once again on the potted plant. “Where we have been told, a thousand times, not to go.”

“And?”

“And…” Curufin looked uncertain. “I don’t know. Something fell. Mother wasn’t very clear on the details.”

“He got burned,” said Caranthir dully. “By some chemicals, some really strong ones, ones we didn’t even know dad had back there, that he didn’t tell anyone he had been working on…”

“Don’t blame dad,” said Curufin, getting angry again. “Don’t talk like this is his fault.”

“Should I talk like it’s Pityo’s fault?”

“Well, he did – ”

“It was an accident,” interrupted Maglor. “It was an accident, obviously, and it’s pointless to talk like we can blame anyone for it. That doesn’t get us anywhere.” He spoke with such finality that both Curufin and Caranthir fell quiet again. Maedhros had gone pale, his face very grave.

“So did any of you see how bad he – ” he began, and just then, Nerdanel came back in, beckoning to the rest of them. Her shoulders were squared in the way she held them when she was keeping herself together with iron control, and her hair was twisted up behind her head.

“Can we go back there now?” said Caranthir immediately, getting to his feet.

“Yes, you can come. But the pain meds haven’t kicked in yet,” she said. “So prepare yourselves, he looks…rough.”

 

**4.**

They had prepared themselves, but even so, as they walked into the room Maglor grabbed Maedhros’ arm with both hands, not quite conscious of the gesture, and Curufin fell back a little, his face going grey. But Caranthir crossed the room at once, his hand seeking Amrod’s back.

Amras was lying on the hospital bed, his bright hair livid against the white sheets. He looked far younger than sixteen, small and vulnerable while the IV at his side dripped in placid silence next to his anguish. Amrod was at his left side, clinging to Amras’ hand, his own face as white and bloodless as his twin’s, beads of sweat rolling down his temples as if he was experiencing the same pain. Amras was sweating and moaning, turning weakly against the pillows, his right arm and side of his chest and neck heavily bandaged. There were bandages on part of his face as well, and it seemed to be these that Amrod was trying to keep him from disturbing.

“Ambarussa,” he was begging, “please, please, stay still, they said your dressings need to stay in place…”

“I’m burning,” whispered Amras, his voice so cracked and raspy it was almost unrecognizable. “I’m burning, it hurts, I’m – ”

“You’re not burning, I promise, I _promise._ It’s over, and, and you’re safe, and the meds are going to kick in soon, so it’s going to feel better.” Amrod cast a desperate glance at their mother as if to verify the truth of this. She nodded, a lock of hair escaping her bun. “You’re not burning any more,” said Amrod, his voice breaking. “You’re safe now.”

But Amras kept gasping, the only noise in the grey room his choking breaths and barely articulate pleas, his eyes flickering wildly like a trapped animal looking for escape. Eventually Nerdanel joined Amrod in trying to keep him still, murmuring soft words of comfort while her son shook and Fëanor stood waiting by the side of the bed as still as a statue, his severe profile drawn sharply in the harsh light.

“We have to do something for him,” said Caranthir loudly, his palm flat between Amrod’s shoulder blades. “Something isn’t working, where are the fucking doctors?”

“They’ll be back to check on him,” said Nerdanel, not taking her eyes from Amras’ face, “but they’ve given him the painkillers and we just have to wait…”

“Wait?” Caranthir’s voice was strident, and Maglor flinched, digging his fingers into Maedhros’ arm. “Look at him, he’s _suffering_ , don’t make him fucking _wait_.” He looked like he was ready to start knocking things over, and he subsided only when Fëanor laid his hands on his shoulders and drew Caranthir to his side.

“I know, Moryo,” murmured Fëanor. “I feel the same way.”

“It’s not happening quickly enough,” snapped Caranthir, twisting in his father’s grasp. “ _Look_ at the kid, this isn’t _right_.”

Fëanor tightened his hands on Caranthir’s shoulders. “If nothing happens in the next little while, I will go get someone, I promise.”

It couldn’t have been long, in truth, perhaps a matter of 15 minutes or so, but it felt like excruciating hours before the drugs at last took effect and Amras stilled, stopped fighting, and slept. There was a soft sound in the room like the seven of them had let out a collective breath. Nerdanel reached across the bed to stroke Amrod’s cheek, while Fëanor squeezed Caranthir’s shoulder a last time and then straightened up.

“I’m going to check in with the attending doctor. Will you be all right keeping an eye on him?” When they murmured their assent, he nodded brusquely. “Call me if anything happens.” He strode out of the room, and Nerdanel got to her feet and stalked after him without a word.

Maglor sank into a chair and buried his face in his hands, unconsciously mimicking Maedhros’ earlier gesture. Then he looked up, his eyes wandering around the room, taking count. “Hang on. Did anyone end up calling Tyelko?”

“Shit,” said Maedhros, but Curufin already had his phone plugged in in the corner, his back to the rest of them.

“I’m on it.”

 

**3.**

Celegorm got out of the car and hit the parking lot already at a run, sprinting to the hospital entrance and yanking the door open. The waiting room was half full, with soft, clinical hospital sounds filling the air, and Celegorm’s frantic pace clashed with the dull inertia of the room. He was turning in place, panicked, when a dark haired man who had been sitting quietly in a chair across the way got to his feet. Celegorm’s eyes flickered over him, away and then back with a surge of recognition, and he stopped craning his neck, letting out a sharp breath.

“ _Dad._ ”

“Turkafinwë,” said Fëanor. His voice was hoarse and there were dark shadows on his eyes, and he held himself stiffly, like he’d been sitting for too long. “I am glad you’re here. I wanted to make sure someone was down here to meet you, because we’ve been moved a couple times now…”

“What happened?” croaked Celegorm, crossing to him. “Is he – Is he – ”

“He was badly burned, but he’s going to be all right, in time,” said Fëanor, who looked like he had aged years in the time since Celegorm had last seen him. “He’s hurt. But he’s going to make a full recovery, they believe. They hope.” He cleared his throat. “Though he may have some scarring, some permanently damaged tissue. There were certain chemicals in my workshop…”

Celegorm made an involuntary movement and Fëanor pulled back slightly, looking wary. For a moment the past year stretched between them, echoing with the words they’d thrown at each other and brutal with the subsequent silence. It had been over ten months since they had spoken, ten months since Celegorm had moved towards Fëanor in fury, fists raised.

But now, even as Fëanor’s lips thinned uncertainly, Celegorm was not moving in anger. Instead, Celegorm stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his father, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“Thank god,” he whispered. “Thank god he’s going to be okay, I was so scared when Curvo called…” He buried his face in his father’s jacket, having to bend down slightly to reach Fëanor’s shoulder.

Fëanor froze for an instant, holding himself awkwardly. But as Celegorm clung to him, he brought his arms up to hold Celegorm fiercely, his fingers digging into his son’s broad back. He tried to speak, and failed, just hanging onto Celegorm for another long minute, gripping the back of Celegorm’s over-sized coat as Celegorm tried to pull himself together.

“So seriously, what’s the deal?” Celegorm pulled back at last and wiped at his eyes. “What’s going on? Where is he, can I see him? Where is everyone else?”

“Pityafinwë is back in surgery,” said Fëanor, who was also blinking rapidly. “The rest of the family are waiting in his room. No, Tyelko, hold on, we have to get you signed in as a visitor.” Fëanor dealt with the front desk, his tone returning to his usual brisk officiousness, but Celegorm kept close to his side, studying the gauntness of his face. Once Celegorm had his badge, they made their way to the elevator bank, and Celegorm looked at his father again.

“So…the accident…”

“It was in my workshop,” said Fëanor baldly. “He was looking for something, I am not sure what, I haven’t gotten all the details yet – Pityo was in no condition to elaborate and Telvo was hardly any more coherent – but it seems some chemicals were disturbed from where they were being stored and fell against him. They were potent, and he has suffered burns where they came in contact with his skin.” He was holding himself rigidly again, as if he expected Celegorm to turn on him in accusation, but instead Celegorm laid an arm around his shoulders and squeezed. Celegorm started to say something that began with “I know how – ” and then he stopped, and shook his head, just tightening his arm around his father’s shoulders.

They didn’t speak again until they got to the room, and when they came in, Curufin’s pale, pinched face brightened as he looked up at them. Fëanor sat down beside him as Celegorm brushed his hand briefly over Curufin’s hair, bending down to murmur something that no one else could make out. Curufin jerked his head in response, and Celegorm stroked his hair again, then went to Maedhros’ side, and leaned against his older brother.

Maedhros gave him a wordless, one-armed hug. “Sorry we didn’t get ahold of you sooner,” he said softly.

Celegorm shook his head in self-reproach. “Naw, I should have called back after I got that hang up from Moryo, but I was with Ireth and I just shrugged it off.”

“You’re here now.”

“I’m here now,” Celegorm agreed, his arm still around Maedhros’ waist. “Where’s the other demon?”

“In the bathroom with mom,” said Maglor, who was sitting on the floor in front of Caranthir’s chair and leaning against his knees. “He started getting sick after they took Pityo into surgery again.”

“What’s he getting surgery for?”

“They’re dealing with some of the damaged tissue and weighing what percentage of the burns require skin grafts,” said Fëanor, staring out the window and then glancing at Curufin. “Curufinwë, put your phone away, for god’s sake, be present. The doctors are evaluating what percentage of his burns need grafting. They are also concerned he may have some issues with…inhalation.”

“Of the chemicals?” said Celegorm, horrified, and Maglor turned his face against Caranthir’s legs.

Fëanor nodded shortly. “He was in such a state when we brought him in that his breathing was shallow and quick and it was hard to tell what was shock and what was an indication of something worse.” He passed a hand over his eyes and stood up. Curufin shifted in his seat. “I should go check on Telvo and your mother.”

“I can go too,” said Curufin at once.

Fëanor shook his head. “You don’t do very well around people being sick to their stomachs, if I remember correctly.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Thank you.” Fëanor laid a light hand on Curufin’s neck. “But it will be best for you to stay here with your brothers. I’ll be back.”

He left, and Curufin slouched back in his chair, tucking his legs under him, and pulled out his phone once more.

“I’m hungry,” said Caranthir, the first thing he’d said in an hour, and everyone glanced at him. “What?” He looked defensive. “It’s been ages since we ate, I’ve got like four beers in me and no food.”

“Beers?” began Celegorm, his eyebrows raising in disbelief and giving a faint grin despite himself, “You little scallywag, what were you – ”

“Seriously?” Curufin didn’t lift his eyes from his phone, his thumbs busy.  “Not the time, Tyelko.”

Celegorm subsided, leaning against the wall and folding his arms. “So who’s gonna feed Moryo?”

“There’s a cafeteria downstairs,” said Maglor, glancing at Maedhros, who nodded.

“You can go, or we can bring some stuff back if you want to stay here and wait…”

“Yeah,” said Caranthir, and Curufin nodded without looking up from his screen.

“We’ll hold down the fort if you guys wanna go.” Celegorm checked his watch. “We can text if mom and dad and the kids come back and you’re needed. Bring sandwiches or something.”

“Nothing for me.” Curufin didn’t take his eyes from his phone. “I don’t trust hospital food.”

Maedhros and Maglor went off to search for the cafeteria, but got turned around in the echoing, identical hallways, trying to follow signs and vague arrows, and invariably ending up in random alcoves rather than where they were intending. There was something about the atmosphere that made them whisper rather than speak in their normal voices, and they were just debating whether they needed to take another set of stairs or find the elevators again when the sound of an argument, jarringly loud in the otherwise muted hallway, arrested them. They paused, drawing up as they passed a small, otherwise empty waiting room and familiar voices met their ears. One voice was very quiet, and the other was much louder, the speaker clearly in a towering rage. Maedhros and Maglor looked at each other and then shrank against the wall at the same time, listening.

“Stop trying to _placate_ me!”

“Nerdanel, please keep your voice down, I know you’re upset, but this is a hospital, there are people sleeping, there are sick people...”

“I know that, you idiot, and our child is one of them!” Nerdanel’s voice was so sharp with anguish and fury that Maglor raised his hands to his ears again, cringing. “And you know why he’s here? Because of _you._ This was your fault, your fault he’s hurt, your fault our baby is burned.”

Fëanor drew in a sharp breath while out in the hall, Maedhros caught Maglor’s wrist, pulling his hands away from his ears. “I don’t deny I am responsible for the chemicals being where they were, but I told them, all of them, a dozen times, to stay out of there. The boy shouldn’t have been – ”

“He shouldn’t have been? Fëanáro, _you_ shouldn’t have been! You shouldn’t have had those chemicals at all, you promised you were done with that line of research! What on earth were you thinking, keeping something that dangerous on our property? Without _telling_ me! This was an entirely preventable accident, had you simply done what you were supposed to years ago! As you promised you would do! You hid the fact you were doing those experiments again from me, you hid – ”

“They were stored safely, he was poking around where he shouldn’t have been…”

Nerdanel let out a wild laugh. “You are unbelievable! Are you not even going to acknowledge the fact that under the terms of the settlement you never even should have had those chemicals? Is that why you hid it from me? You are not supposed to be working with those substances! It was part of the conditions of the plea bargain!”

“I cannot believe you of all people are bringing the trial transcript against me when you _know_ how things were skewed. For god’s sake, I wasn’t going to manufacture them for profit, they were never going to leave my shop, it was just an experimental…”

“Fëanáro, are you actually making excuses – You are beyond – I can’t _believe_ you…”

“Nerdanel – ”

“You weren’t there,” said Nerdanel, and now her voice was suddenly so low that Maglor and Maedhros had to lean forward to hear. “You weren’t there when it happened.”

“I was home within 15 minutes of it – ”

“Do you know what it’s like to hear your child screaming like that?” Nerdanel’s voice frayed and broke, and in the silence that followed, they could tell she was weeping too hard to speak.

Maglor leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. Maedhros reached out bleakly and took his hand, and it was only when they heard Fëanor’s voice, a soft, tender whisper now, that they pulled themselves away.

 

**2.**

It was past midnight, but every light in the house at 1455 Mithrim Lake was ablaze, and the kitchen bustled with half a dozen people.

“Right,” Lalwen was saying, as she presided over the kitchen table like a general commanding her troops, “we need to divide and conquer here.” She jabbed her pencil down on a pad of paper before her. “First of all – food. Fëanor and Nerdanel are going to be entirely wrapped up in this, they shouldn’t have to be worrying about cooking. Who can take charge of organizing dinners that can be frozen and brought over?”

“I can,” said Fingon, who was standing at her right shoulder. “I know our parents will want to help too, but I can start with organizing people to make casseroles and stuff to bring over.”

“Good. Irissë, you’re on animal care?”

“Yes,” said Aredhel, “I’ve got Huan until Tyelko comes back, and I can go over and take care of the twins’ pets until everyone’s home.”

“The birds and the snake, right? There’s nothing I’m forgetting there? Okay. We should arrange hospital visits, get some kind of schedule going, though it’s up in the air how long they’ll be there…”

“They don’t know yet,” said Finrod, who was absorbed in his phone. “Pityo’s in surgery again, and it’s unclear how long they’ll want to keep him in the hospital, Curvo says.”

“When we know, we can send out an email. Someone may want to go over and see if there’s more we can help with,” said Lalwen, dragging a hand through her hair and making it stand up in spikes. “See if they need rides or anything.”

“I can do it,” said Fingon and Finrod at the same time.

“Didn’t Maitimo take your car?” said Finrod quickly. “Let me go.”

Fingon opened his mouth like he was going to protest, but then nodded. “Sure. Why don’t you go reconnoiter.”

Finrod whisked out the front door, nose still buried in his phone, and Galadriel came into the kitchen from the living room. “They’ll probably be back later tonight, if not tomorrow,” she said, “they can’t all sleep at the hospital. There’s stuff scattered all over, let’s tidy up and…”

“And make sure the lights are on, and the fire is going,” said Aredhel, getting up from where she was sitting with Lómion perched on her shoulder. “And someone should go over to Formenos and do the same there, though I don’t know how Uncle Fëanáro will feel about us breaking in, even with good intent.”

“I have a key,” said Lalwen, “I’ll do it.”

 

**1.**

Back in the hospital room, Celegorm was sitting in a chair with Amrod as Amras slept on in the bed. Amrod, who had after all finally made good on his threats and grown taller than Celegorm, was curled up against Celegorm’s side, his long legs pulled up to his chest, and Celegorm had a comforting arm around his shoulders.

“It’s okay, kid,” he was murmuring, “He’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay. I promise.”

Amrod shook his head mutely and buried his face in Celegorm’s shoulder, and Celegorm petted his hair, whispering soft things like he did when Huan was panicking over thunder. “Hey, hey, shh, it’s okay, I’m here, you’re gonna be fine, you’re gonna be okay, honey, yeah, I know, I know…”

Caranthir sat bent shouldered by the bed, his face turned aside, almost as if in prayer. No one was sure if he was awake or not. Curufin had gone out into the hallway to pace. Muttering something about needing fresh air, he went out to the entrance of the hospital. He pulled in a long breath of cold clear air, reveling even in the exhaust smells of the parking lot as preferable to the scent of the hospital. Then he looked around, checking his phone once more to see if he’d read the last text correctly.

“Curvo!”

Curufin looked up. A bright haired figure was standing at the corner, keys in hand, a scarf hastily wound around his neck in lieu of a jacket, lit by one of the street lamps. Curufin raised a hand in greeting, and Finrod immediately strode over to him.

“Curvo – ” He reached out, a question in the gesture. “Tell me.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Curufin said, shrugging. “It looks worse than it is, they say. Obviously it’s not a good situation, but it’s one we can handle. They’ll manage his pain, and they have a good burn center here, and – ” His voice faded and he shook his head impatiently. “It’s going to be fine,” he said. “Don’t make a fuss.”

“I won’t,” said Finrod, but he opened his arms, and after a moment of hesitation, Curufin went into them.

They stood together in the circle of light from the street light, Curufin’s face hidden in Finrod’s shoulder, and Finrod held him carefully. “Lalwen is organizing things at home,” he said, his breath warm on Curufin’s ear. “The troops can be deployed at any moment for anything you need. Anything any of you need.”

Curufin nodded.

“Do you have updates I should pass along to them?”

“I should talk to my father first,” said Curufin, but he didn’t move.

Finrod touched his hair. “Do you not want to go back in?”

“Just give me a moment to get the…the air in there off my skin.”

“I can go in for you if you want to wait out here a bit longer,” Finrod offered. “I can talk to your father.”

“No,” said Curufin, and now he raised his head, though he didn’t pull out of Finrod’s arms. “He won’t understand why you’re there.”

 

-

 

It was far into the small hours when Fëanor, who had come back into the room somewhat after Nerdanel, finally stood up, rubbing his eyes, and gestured to Maedhros, who was one of the only ones still awake. “You should take your brothers home,” he said quietly. “No use everyone ruining their backs sleeping on chairs and the floor here. We’ll call as soon as we know anything. You and Makalaurë can drive your brothers home.”

“What about Telvo? He won’t want to leave. ”

“He will stay with us, of course,” said Fëanor, looking at Amrod, who was asleep with his head on his mother’s shoulder. “Your mother and I will take shifts at home with him, if we can talk him into it. But the rest of you should get real sleep.”

“We’re on it.”

“Good.” Fëanor smiled briefly. “Where’s Curvo? He’s been downstairs for over an hour, do you think he’s gotten lost? Oh, never mind, I’ll go find him and tell him you all are about to leave.” He strode out of the room, and Maedhros bent down to shake Maglor and Celegorm awake and usher them out into the hall.

The three of them looked at each other as they stood out in the hallway, waiting for Caranthir to say goodbye to their mother and Amrod. Over the nurses’ station, a frayed holiday wreath blinked on and off. They watched it with tired, red-rimmed eyes.

“Merry Christmas,” said Maglor bleakly, as the red and green lights cast eerie shadows over his face.

“Happy fuckin' holidays,” said Celegorm, with a humorless grin.

“At least we’re all together again,” said Maedhros, and reached out a hand to each of them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3\. Happy fuckin' holidays, guys. 
> 
> <3


	71. This has turned into disaster lately

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The holiday’s over, back to work, back to rivalries of yore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Okay so over New Years (happy 2016, y’all), in between the very important naked singing hour and the equally important debate over the constitution as a meta-document, we spent an absurdly long period of time ‘helping’ my friend assess her potential matches on Tinder.
> 
> And I blame that for the first part of this chapter.
> 
> 1\. Warnings: Aftermath of injury, incest jokes, marital discord, some light violence, they don’t call him ‘hasty riser’ for nothin  
> 2\. Items 3 and 4 are unrelated.

“He looks like he’s sleeping a little restlessly. Do you think we should get mom? Maybe his meds need to be adjusted.”

“He’s probably restless ‘cos you’re hanging over his face and hissing like a teakettle. Shut up and let him sleep.” Caranthir nudged Amrod with a toe. “And mom says we’re trying to decrease the amount of painkillers he’s on.”

Amrod hovered for a second, still peering down at his twin’s sleeping face, but then yielded and retreated back across the room to sit on the arm of Caranthir’s chair. “Yeah, okay, fine.” He jogged his foot, his fingers tapping on the chair until Caranthir pinched him to make him stop. “Ow.”

“Can you be quiet and keep still for like, five seconds? Are you capable of that?”

“Yes, but I won’t. What are you doing?” Amrod tried to look at Caranthir’s screen.

Caranthir angled his phone away. “Don’t read over my shoulder.”

“Are you texting someone?”

“No.”

“Who is _that_?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why was her face on your screen?”

“Because I’m on Tinder,” said Caranthir, and dug an elbow into Amrod’s ribs. “Shift back.”

“Ooooh let me help!”

“This is not something I need help with.” Caranthir tried to hunch over his phone and Amrod immediately hung over his shoulder. “Back off, pest, go do something else.”

Amrod’s foot knocked against the pile of books and papers at the side of the chair, the assignments he’d been bringing home from school for Amras, in theory. So far they’d been entirely untouched. “You’re going through them all too fast, lemme see a couple profiles at least.”

“ _No._ We don’t have the same taste anyway, it’s irrelevant.”

“How do you know if you don’t let me look?”

“What are you two doing?” said Amras raspily, and both Amrod and Caranthir jumped, Amrod inadvertently kicking a textbook under the bed as he slid off the chair.

“Sorry, Ambarussa,” said Amrod at once, looking repentant as he fumbled under the bed for the book and laid it back on the pile. “You were supposed to be sleeping.”

“We’ll be quieter,” said Caranthir, making to shove his phone back into his pocket. “How are you feeling? Want us to get mom, or – ”

“No.” Amras started to sit up, and immediately Amrod and Caranthir scrambled forward to him. He rolled his good eye at them, the other still hidden beneath gauze and a flesh-colored patch. “Will you stop? God. Did you say you were using Tinder, Moryo?”

“No.”

“Yeah, he is!”

“I wanna see.”

Caranthir sighed, and hoisted himself out of the chair. He sat carefully on the edge of the bed and Amras scooted over so they could share the pillow. Amrod hopped onto the end of the bed and crawled up until he could lean over Caranthir’s shoulder as well. Caranthir sighed again and resettled himself between the two of them, taking care not to jostle Amras’ bandages. “Fine. Keep as many opinions as possible to yourselves, if you can manage it.”

“Yo, what percentage guys and chicks is this?”

Caranthir blinked and flicked left on a handsome blond man. “About 30-70.”

Amrod looked at the next profile. “Ooooh, she’s cute.”

“Mm,” said Caranthir noncommittally.

“Why’d you swipe left? C’mon, there was nothing wrong with her.”

“Car selfie.”

“You judge people for _car selfies_?”

“Yeah.”

“What else do you judge for?”

“Instagram filters. Shoutouts to God. Gym selfies. Anything that looks like they’re hiking or something, because then they’re gonna want to do outdoor shit. Hashtags. Sports teams.”

“You are such a cranky grandpa. Your own brother uses car selfies in _his_ profile,” said Amras, as Caranthir batted both their hands away from his screen but failed to keep Amras from plucking it away. “Tyelko isn’t too good for car selfies.”

“Tyelko isn’t too good for anything.” Caranthir frowned. “And how do you know he uses them in his profile?”

“Because his profile is the one that just popped up,” said Amras, pointing, and Amrod started to laugh.

“Oh my god, what the fuck.” Caranthir grabbed the phone from Amras’ hands and brought the screen close to his nose. “Why the _hell_.”

“Wow, he hits almost every square on Moryo Nope Bingo.” Amrod examined Celegorm’s profile critically. “I’ll grant you that the car picture’s pretty douchey.”

“He’s got some cool rugby photos though,” Amras pointed out.

“Oh, and some shirtless ones. Classy. Look Moryo, they’re even at the gym!”

“What is he doing on Tinder?” Caranthir protested. “He’s got a _boyfriend_.”

“He probably just never deleted his profile.”

“Maybe he just does it for beer recs and conversation.”

“Swipe right and see what happens.”

“Grooooss. No, but do it.”

Out in the hallway, Nerdanel rested a cardboard box against her hip and smiled as laughter filled the room and spilled into the hall, the twins’ voices rising, loud and excited, over Caranthir’s protesting tones. She set down the box she'd been carrying from the attic outside the door and wiped the dust from her hands on the front of her jeans. Then she leaned against the wall, taking care not to make any noise, and closed her eyes to listen, not to the conversation but to the laughter; Amrod's bright, ringing laugh, and Amras' lower, huskier one, still roughened by the after-effects of the accident. After a while, even Caranthir's begrudging chuckle joined them, and Nerdanel absently turned the gold bracelet on her left wrist over and over.

“Is anyone home?” Celegorm’s voice echoed from the front door, and Nerdanel raised her head, letting her bracelet hang loose on her wrist again, and slipped quietly down the stairs to greet him.

“Hey ma, what’s up? Ooof.” Celegorm let out a wheezing noise as Nerdanel gave him a bear hug, squeezing him so tightly that his ribs creaked. “Boy, have you been doing extra weight circuits or something?”

“Just good to see you back in the house again,” said Nerdanel, and let him go with a quick kiss on the cheek. “Are you here for Moryo?”

“Yeah, we’re gonna do a car swap, he’ll drop me at work and then have the car for the rest of the day. But I also wanted to see the demons.”

“He’s with them now.”

They were passing by Fëanor’s study as they walked down the hall to the big, bright room that had once been Maedhros and Maglor’s, a room better suited to a convalescing invalid than the one that held the twins’ bunk beds. Celegorm’s quick eyes took in the study: the familiar gold clock on the desk, the dark mahogany shelves, the locked file cabinets – and a slight, uncharacteristic disarray. Fëanor was generally impeccably neat, and while his study could pile up with papers and projects, even the clutter was generally strictly organized. Now, something about it struck Celegorm as off; only a little less tidy than usual, but somehow lived in rather than used. Then he spotted the blanket draped over the back of the couch, a pillow perched on one end, and a neatly folded pile of clothes. He let out his breath and looked back at his mother. Nerdanel raised her eyebrows and said nothing.

He decided not to bother pretending he wasn’t drawing the conclusion he had immediately come to. “Dad’s been sleeping in his office, huh?”

“Apparently.”

“His call, or yours?”

“I call it none of your business.” Nerdanel’s voice was light enough, but Celegorm chewed his lip, looking preoccupied.

“Are you guys still fighting? Don’t you think… I mean, is it worth it?”

Nerdanel shook her head. “You are one to talk about the value of holding grudges, child o’ mine. _How_ many months has it been since you set foot in this house?”

Celegorm remained unflapped. “Seriously, you think you should use me as a role model here? Haven’t you spent years telling my brothers not to do that? C’mon, if anything, this is an opportunity learn from my failings, not to use me as an example.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Curvo,” muttered Nerdanel. “Learning how to argue.”

“You think I can’t come up with twisty arguments on my own? We _both_ grew up with dad.”

“Yes, I know.” Nerdanel’s warm brown eyes flashed. “I am very familiar with his twisty arguments and way with words.”

 _Oops_. “See now,” said Celegorm, attempting levity, “if I was as good as Curvo, I wouldn’t have fallen into that one. Ma, I know it shouldn’t have happened and all that, and that dad hid stuff from us, but I _know_ he feels horrible about this already, and trust me that no one can punish him better than he’s punishing himself.”

“Mmhm. And how would you know that?”

“Because I’ve been there,” said Celegorm, then made the executive decision to shut up.

Nerdanel folded her arms and scrutinized him. She seemed on the edge of asking something, but at the last minute her expression shifted and she simply stretched out a hand to cup Celegorm’s cheek. “I appreciate your concern,” she said softly. “But this is one your dad and I have to deal with on our own, okay? Now go on, see your brothers.”

Celegorm shrugged, patted her shoulder clumsily, and then turned to head into the room where Amrod could be heard loudly accusing Caranthir of something. Celegorm crowded onto the bed, tossing Amrod carelessly out of the way but being mindful not to jostle Amras overmuch. “Hey hey. How’s my favorite demon? My beige pirate gosling?” He nodded at Amras’ bandages. “Feeling okay?”

“Peachy,” said Amras with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and Celegorm looked down, his fingers brushing over his brother’s wrist.

“Keep gettin’ better, peanut, we need you. So what are you freaks doing, huh?” He settled his chin on Caranthir’s shoulder. “Oooh, checking out hotties on Tinder, are you, nice jo– Hold the _fuck_ on. Was that me?”

“Yes,” said Amrod, happily. “Moryo was checking you out.”

“I was not. What are you even doing using Tinder?” demanded Caranthir, who had gone bright red.

“What the fuck are you doing swiping right on your brother, sicko?” Celegorm drew his eyebrows together and jabbed a finger at the screen. “You hoping for a match?”

“Telvo did it,” protested Caranthir, and Amras chuckled.

Celegorm shook his head. “You should be so lucky.  You couldn’t handle me, baby.”

“ _Ew_.” Amras and Caranthir both shoved at Celegorm until he dropped laughing to the floor with Amrod.

“You’re not single,” said Caranthir, when Celegorm had stretched out on the rug, folding his arms behind his head. “Is, um, is something going on? Are you sneaking around on Oromë?”

Celegorm rolled his eyes at the ceiling. “Look at my profile more carefully, genius, those photos are _old_. Look how short my hair is, I don’t have a scar on my chin in them, I am like 10 pounds lighter, _and_ it says ‘last active’ buttfuck months ago. Plus, I wouldn’t sneak around on my man, I’m not, like, Findaráto.”

“Oh snap,” said Amras.

Amrod chortled. “ _Burn_.”

There was an awkward silence as the word traveled around the room.

Caranthir coughed. “Tyelko, don’t you need to get to work?” He sat up and started to get off the bed. Celegorm caught the flash of unhappiness in Amras’ eyes as Caranthir reached for his jacket.

“Yeah, but if I’m late it’s not like anyone will be that surprised.”

“You only just got employed for the first time in your life, let’s see if we can keep you from getting fired before you actually accomplish anything. If you make it six months, Curvo owes me fifty bucks.” Caranthir turned back to Amras as he started to get up, smoothing out the quilt. “Hey, keep texting me, right? I want to hear from you.”

“You’re so clingy,” said Amras, trying to grin. His hands were twisting in the bedclothes, his fingers picking absently at the scab the IV had left on the back of his hand. He suddenly looked young again, and his left eye was watery. Celegorm glanced between him and Amrod and realized with an unpleasant start of surprise that for the first time in their lives they looked different, not just because of haircuts and clothes, or even the bandages on Amras’ arms and face. In just the few weeks spanning the time since the accident, Amras had grown dramatically thinner than his twin, the bones of his face jutting prominently beneath his pale, freckled skin. While Amrod looked healthy and strong, bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked, Amras was his shrunken, paper-skinned shadow. They looked like before and after pictures of the same person, Celegorm thought, and then felt ashamed for thinking it.

“Stuff some sandwiches into that one, huh?” he said, elbowing Amrod, who was also watching his brother with a preoccupied look. “Marshmallow fluff and ham and peanut butter, something that’ll put meat on his ribs.”

“Flufferbutter and ham, got it,” said Amrod lightly, rolling to his feet and planting himself at Amras’ side again. “After we start work on the assignments I brought home, right, Ambarussa?”

Amras nodded, but didn’t say anything.

Caranthir and Celegorm exchanged looks, but when Celegorm’s phone chirped an alert, he groaned and snagged Caranthir’s elbow. “Okay, let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

Caranthir drove, keeping his eyes on the road as Celegorm contorted himself in the passenger seat to change into his work clothes, the green and brown of the ranger uniform he wore at the preserve.

Caranthir flipped on the radio. “You know you _could_ have just changed at the house.”

Celegorm reached out and switched the channel almost immediately. “Yeah, well, I forgot.”

Caranthir turned on the radio again, took his eyes off the road to roll them at his brother, and then yelped in shock, jerking the steering wheel.

Celegorm swore as he fell against the door, jarring his elbow. “What the fuck, dude?”

“Why are you hanging brain? Put your junk away!”

“Just keep your eyes away from my junk!” Celegorm ducked as a truck roared past them. “Focus on driving, dumbass.”

“Don’t you wear _underpants_?”

“ _Underpants?_ ” Celegorm mimicked his shrill disbelief. “What are you, a ten year old? And no, I don’t wear ‘em. They cramp my style.”

Caranthir groaned and shifted into higher gear. “You are gonna get us pulled over for indecency.”

“I know for a fact you’ve done more indecent shit than change pants - on this road in this very car - so keep driving, flyboy.” Celegorm pulled his pants on and rummaged for his belt. “Why are you in such a rush? You got somewhere to be?”

“I’m trying to get you to work on time, _sorry_.” Caranthir ground the gears. “And not that it matters, but I wanna see if I can get downtown early before I meet up with Telchar.”

“Oho, and why is that?”

“She got me this really nice gift for Christmas and I didn’t get her anything,” muttered Caranthir. “I want to pick something up.”

“What did she get you?”

“This… Never mind.”

“Oh come on, spill.” Celegorm buttoned his fly.

“This really nice pipe,” said Caranthir, determinedly fixing his eyes on the road and checking his blind spot meticulously as he changed lanes so he didn’t have to see Celegorm’s grin. “She’s always giving me shit for smoking crappy joints and stuff and her uncle’s a wood carver – and she always said pipes were more sophisticated looking at least, and – Jesus, Tyelko, will you shut the fuck up?”

“I didn’t say a word,” said Celegorm, pulling himself together. “Not a peep.”

“I’ll kill you if you say anything to anyone,” said Caranthir, whose cheeks were scarlet.

“What would I say? That my little brother received a specially selected, handcrafted pipe from a sexy older acquaintance – Moryo, you psycho, you will _crash_ , keep your hands on the wheel!” Celegorm dodged as Caranthir grabbed for him and the car swerved again. “I am shutting up, I’m shutting up, damn! We’re almost there, cool your jets.” Celegorm shook his head and reached for his phone as Caranthir muttered himself into silence. They turned onto the forest road and Celegorm sighed. “Man, I don’t even know who I’m on shift with today, they totally switched up the schedule for the new year.” He flicked open a text message, his lips moving as he read, and then he let out a groan that made Caranthir look over at him again. “Oh you have got to be fucking _kidding_ me.”

 

* * *

 

Mablung was honestly surprised it hadn’t happened sooner.

After the initial unpleasant surprise the first day he’d walked into the staff room at the lodge and seen Celegorm’s name on the schedule, Mablung had settled into resignation with the fact that he and Celegorm would be working together – or at least, that was the theory. They had both been at the preserve several months now, and by some providence (or by some unseen strings being pulled, though Mablung couldn’t fathom how or why) not once had their shifts overlapped. Celegorm tended to work evenings to Mablung’s mornings, and though they’d both been scheduled to work over the holidays, Celegorm turned out absent at the last minute, and none of their co-workers had seen him for a couple weeks now.

Mablung had half hoped the occasion wouldn't arise, that if their luck in avoiding each other had held out this long it would manage a little longer. He knew that Celegorm had been working to get in the training to qualify for work with the preserve’s animals, rotations that would take him away on different tasks. But for the time being, as he accrued his training hours in the off-season months, Celegorm was stuck on trail maintenance shifts with the rest of the crew. Mablung didn’t mind trail duty himself, always having liked the relative solitude and peace of the quiet trails. It reminded him of trips he had taken with Beleg during college, when they used to flee the city with the Mountain Club for the weekend, heading north to the mountains and forests. Today, in addition to the itch put between his shoulders by working this closely with Celegorm, it was thinking of Beleg that kept Mablung from enjoying the solitude. His mind wandered, remembering Beleg’s quiet appreciation for the woods and his eager discussion of their forest management classes, and he was struck with a recurrent pang of loneliness for his friend.

Perhaps it was this that made Mablung glance more frequently at Celegorm than he otherwise would have, always on the edge of saying something. _Who else do you have to ask? You've exhausted every other possibility._ But each time he looked over, Celegorm would look up too, sensing his eyes on the back of his neck, and catch his eye and glare, untrusting and aggressive as ever.

_Don't be an idiot, there's no way you can ask him._

But Beleg wouldn't stop pacing through Mablung's mind, and the itch between Mablung's shoulder blades wouldn't relent. They had been working nearly two hours without speaking when Mablung couldn’t stand the silence anymore. He cleared his throat. “At least it’s cold out now, huh?”

Celegorm grunted.

“The warm weather over Christmas was pretty lame. Sixty degrees, ridiculous.” Mablung listened to himself and seriously considered driving the hatchet he swung idly in one hand into his own face. He couldn't blame Celegorm for looking at him in confused suspicion.  _The weather, are you fuckin’ kidding?_

Celegorm didn’t answer but Mablung resolved to go on, despite the fact that he was starting to wish he could use the hatchet on his own tongue rather than the downed branches across the trail. He glanced sideways at Celegorm’s implacable profile and rigid shoulders and tried again. “Uh, so. Good holiday?”

It was clearly not the right thing to say, because Celegorm just went tenser, his eyes narrowing, and Mablung could hear the breath leave him in a short, angry puff. “No.”

 _Shit_. Mablung remembered something now, filtered down from a friend of a friend, that one of Celegorm’s brothers, one of the little ones, had been in the hospital, some kind of burn…

 _Fitting_ , part of his mind supplied snidely, the part that still felt anger every time he heard their family name. _An eye for an eye, a burn for the burning…_

But he quashed it, feeling, to his surprise a little ashamed at the instinct to throw Celegorm’s family misfortune in his face. “I’m, um, I’m sorry to hear that.”

Celegorm snorted, and Mablung gave up on tact. He had to ask.

“Listen, Fëanorion – Celegorm,” he amended, the name awkward on his tongue, and swallowed. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something. About if Coach – Oromë – might be able to do me a fav – ” He choked, the hatchet dropping from his nerveless fingers, unprepared for the speed with which Celegorm whirled on him. Celegorm’s irritation and suspicion had turned into black rage in the space of a second, and Mablung cursed himself for forgetting how fast Celegorm could be. Celegorm’s hand was at his throat, and Mablung’s back was shoved up against a tree before he could even get the word out, and Mablung gasped, his hands clawing feebly at Celegorm’s arms. Usually he’d be closer to a fair match for Celegorm, despite Celegorm’s slight size advantage; they’d fought enough in the past and knew each other well enough that in normal circumstances, Mablung could give as good as he got. But now, even though learned wariness had prepared him for Celegorm’s anger, he had been unready for the savagery and speed of Celegorm’s attack.

“Jesus, Fëanorion,” he choked out. “Get…off...”

“You have some fucking nerve,” snarled Celegorm, so close that Mablung could feel his breath hot on his face, “talking about him to me. You have some fucking nerve even saying his name in my goddamn presence.”

Mablung wriggled, opening his mouth around an explanation, and Celegorm tightened his grasp. “In fact, you know what, you sack of shit, just don’t. Don’t say his name, not to me, not where I could ever hear it, don’t talk about him _ever_ , you _do not get to say his name to me_.” His eyes were so dark with fury they were almost black, and Mablung dug his nails into Celegorm’s wrists, trying in vain to get him to loosen his grip.

“I didn’t mean – ”

“You don’t get to talk to me about him!” spat Celegorm, ignoring his blood welling under Mablung's fingernails. “I know what you think of me with him, and guess what, I’ve heard enough. You don’t get to talk to his _slut_ about him anymore. You lost that privilege, you piece of garbage, after you called me his whore – ”

“I shouldn’t have – ”

“And you want a favor from him now?” roared Celegorm, whose rage seemed only to be mounting. “After he already did you the favor of getting you this job, so I now have to see you every goddamn day? Haven’t you done _enough_?”

“Celegorm!” yelled Mablung, finally shoving himself free. “Jesus Christ, let go of me, I’m _sorry_.”

“How dare you be fucking sorry?”

They stared at each other, panting, fists clenched.

“I am, okay?” said Mablung, more quietly. “I shouldn’t have said those things.” He wanted to drop his eyes to the ground, away from Celegorm’s furious stare, but he also didn’t want to take his eyes off Celegorm in case he attacked again. So he kept watching warily, hands loosening at his sides. “I was…actually really surprised Oro – Coach even gave me a rec after what I said to you.”

“I didn’t tell him,” said Celegorm, still breathing heavily. “He didn’t know.”

Mablung let out a long breath. “Oh.” 

“He knows now,” Celegorm added, as if an afterthought. “It happened to come up when I learned I’d be working with you.”

Mablung’s shoulders slumped, disappointment and shame rattling through him. “Oh.”

Celegorm folded his arms. “Yeah.”

“Never mind then,” muttered Mablung. “I…yeah. Forget it. Don't worry, I won't bring him up to you again, I know you don't owe me anything." He nudged his dropped hatchet with his toe. "I'll leave this and head back to the lodge and see about getting you reassigned with a different shift mate, okay? I’m….sorry. I know you're not - not - ” He couldn't manage the words. "I'm sorry, though." He had turned back down the path when Celegorm’s voice rang out behind him.

“What was the favor?” He still looked grim and angry, but at least he wasn’t in a fighting stance anymore. He rubbed his wrist where Mablung's nails had torn up his skin. “Just out of curiosity.”

 

* * *

 

The clock in the hallway ticked. Huan snored on the living room rug, and the coffee maker gurgled next to the sink. Two pairs of shoulders hunched, so tense that Oromë thought he might be able to hear their muscles creaking under the strain.

He had taken one look at the way Celegorm was determinedly not looking at Mablung, and the way Mablung was looking at his hands like he was forcing himself not to curl them into fists, and clicked his fingers. Nahar immediately padded over and sat down between the two young men, a warm, silent wall of sorts, and Celegorm’s shoulders loosened slightly. He was still clenching his jaw, though, and appeared to be gnawing his tongue as if to keep from bursting out with something, and Oromë sighed.

“I told myself one of the pleasures of no longer having you two on my team was never having to witness you in close proximity to each other again,” he said, breaking the silence as he retrieved the full carafe of coffee and began pouring it into three mugs. “You always were a nightmare to mediate.”

Mablung didn’t say anything, his dark eyes wary as he wrapped his hands around the mug Oromë handed him. He nodded brusquely, and Celegorm's eyes narrowed. 

“That isn’t the only pleasure of no longer having me on the team, is it?” he said brazenly, and swung out a foot under the counter to run it against Oromë’s calf.

Mablung looked away, cheeks burning, and Oromë glowered at Celegorm, who stared back at him with a wicked glint in his eyes, and licked his lips, deliberately provocative, his foot sliding higher.

Oromë stepped out of his reach and hissed, “Knock it off.”

“Knock what off, _Coach_?”

“I’m gonna go use… Uh, where’s the bathroom?” Mablung still wasn’t looking at either of them.

“First door on the right.” Oromë pointed, and Mablung slid of his stool and made haste from the room, giving Celegorm a wide berth. As soon as he was out of sight, Oromë reached across the counter to flick Celegorm’s ear. “Knock it _off,_ Tyelkormo. What’s wrong with you?”

Celegorm smirked. “What do you think he’d do if he came back in and we were making out? Or I can hop up on the counter and wrap my legs around your waist and you can – ”

“I am not above squirting you with the water pistol I use on the dogs,” said Oromë, and shoved the second cup of coffee across the counter to Celegorm. “Act like an adult, not a small-minded bully.”

Celegorm curled his lip. “And how about you? Are you gonna act like you’re still our coach giving us a lecture on how to behave, or are you gonna act like you’re my boyfriend?”

“I’m not either of your coach, I _am_ your boyfriend, and I intend to act like myself. Listen,” Oromë leaned forward and caught Celegorm’s chin, “you are the one who brought him here, when after what he said I would entirely understand if you never wanted to see him again. I wasn’t sure _I_ wanted to see him. You’re the one who told me I didn’t have to be angry and that I should listen to what he has to say.”

“Did I say that? Yeah, well, seeing him in your house kinda makes me reconsider.” Celegorm scowled but pushed his face against Oromë’s palm like a dog angling for a stroke. Oromë obliged him, sliding his fingers into Celegorm’s hair and dragging them against his scalp. Celegorm’s posture visibly relaxed, and his expression smoothed out.

Oromë smiled despite himself and touched Celegorm’s lips. “How am I ever going to get you to simmer down?”

“Psh, like you actually want that.”

Oromë didn’t try to deny it. “Look, after this afternoon I promise you never have to see him in this house again, if you don’t want to. But can we try to get through at least the next hour without making him horribly uncomfortable? Can we avoid PDA just for the sake of seeing him squirm?”

Celegorm grinned. “Kind of entertaining, right?”

“Kind of petty. You’re better than that.”

“I dunno that I am.” Celegorm looked thoughtful. “Petty seems pretty in character for me.”

“You _are_ better than that.” Oromë thumbed at Celegorm’s lower lip. “I know you are above making someone feel uncomfortable out of spite.”

“Hah. You have always been such a sucker.” Celegorm rolled his eyes fondly and cocked his head. “You are so hopelessly in love with me that you’ve forgotten I’m a total dick.”

“Okay, fine, if I agree that you’re a total dick will you behave?” Oromë looked both amused and exasperated as Celegorm laughed. “He must have said something that made you agree to bring him here. What favor exactly does he need from me? What is this about?”

“It’s about Beleg,” said Mablung from the doorway. He had his hands in his pockets and looked like he didn’t want to cross into the room while Oromë was still touching Celegorm. Oromë pulled his hand back, but Celegorm got up anyway and came around behind the counter to lean against his side possessively. Mablung flushed again, but didn’t look away this time, instead meeting Oromë’s eyes squarely. “And Túrin.” He took a deep breath. "I think they're in trouble."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3\. THIS CHAPTER IS EXACTLY 5000 WORDS. This accomplishment means I can now retire on my laurels, right? Story over, byyye  
> 4\. ...I did some editing and now it's not 5k even. Sob. So I continue on...


	72. People make some good ol' love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet a significant figure from Túrin’s past, and a certain couple tries something new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Warnings: the second half of the chapter contains frank discussion of sex and first times and frank (but non-explicit) description of same. Equally frank shmoop may occur.

 

_**Dor-Lómin Sentinel, April 14 2014** _

_**LOCAL STUDENT TO ATTEND DORIATH SCHOOL OF ARTS AND SCIENCES AT BELERIAND UNIVERSITY** _

_High school senior Túrin Turambar was reluctant to discuss his recent scholarship to prestigious Beleriand University – a prize awarded to just one student each year and personally selected by school president Elu Thingol. “I guess it’ll be better than tech school,” was all Turambar said when our reporter approached him, and then intimated he had a practice to attend and disappeared. “He’s overwhelmed,” said a Turambar acquaintance who gave his name only as Gethron. “Well, maybe. He might just be being rude.”_

_(See SCHOLARSHIP, 14a)_

_**Beleriand University Daily Bugle, September 6 2014** _

_**INTERVIEW WITH FIRST YEAR SCHOLARSHIP STUDENT** _

_[Editor’s note: This year’s recipient of the Greycloak Honors Scholarship, first year Túrin Turambar from Dor-Lómin, was unavailable for an in-person interview despite repeated phone calls but finally agreed to answer our questions by email. His responses have not been edited for length.]_

_BUDB: Congratulations again, and welcome to Beleriand U! It must have been an exciting transition. Tell us a bit about what you’ve been getting out of the school so far and what you’ve been enjoying._

_TT: The rugby team._

_BUDB: Team members of yours we’ve spoken to say you’re already part of the starting line-up for the season opener. What is it like playing rugby at the college level after years on a high school club team? How are you feeling about your prospects in the first game?_

_TT: Fine._

_BUDB: Sports aside, you come to us on a scholarship that recognizes scholarship as well as athleticism. What course of study are you interested in pursuing? Do you have a major picked out?_

_TT: No._

_(Cont. on pg 3)_

_**Beleriand University Daily Bugle, December 15 2014** _

_**FRESHMAN MAKES IMPACT AT CHAMPIONSHIPS** _

_Túrin Turambar, notoriously reticent freshman scholarship student and rising star of the University’s undefeated rugby team, has continued to turn heads with his staggering performance at the league championships this past Saturday. With a performance many are calling ‘fearless’ ,‘ terrifying’, and ‘questionably legal’, Turambar decimated the competition, leading his team to an overwhelming victory over Angband College at Anfauglith Field._

_(Cont. on page 5)_

_**Beleriand Eagle, May 21 2015** _

_**BELERIAND STUDENT ACCUSED OF ASSAULT** _

_Area police are currently asking for any information on the whereabouts of 19 year old Túrin Turambar in connection with an assault committed on Doriath Ave at approximately 2:30 am last night. The victim, recent Beleriand graduate Saeros Orgel, claimed in his statement to police that he had a history of conflict with the suspect..._

_(See ASSAULT, 10a)_

 

“Some press clippings, these are,” muttered Celegorm, shuffling through the folder of newspaper cutouts that Mablung had collected from among the belongings Beleg had left behind in their apartment. “Busy kid, I guess.”

“That’s one way of putting it. What do you know about Túrin’s family?” Oromë turned the car onto a side street and Celegorm frowned, setting the folder by his feet.

“Why would I know anything about his family?”

“His dad was Húrin Thalion,” said Mablung from the back seat.

Celegorm turned around. “Thalion? You mean the World Cup hero?”

“Yeah,” said Mablung. “And the spy.”

Oromë shook his head. “We don’t know that.”

“That’s what everyone says – ”

“I know it's what the people who used to harass Túrin at school say. But all we know is that it seems Húrin was doing work overseas for the government after he retired – and no one seems clear on the nature of that work – and he hasn’t been seen since the early oughts. The nastier rumors say he defected, but I think many find it possible he was captured or killed. All we can say for sure is that he’s been gone for at least 15 years and even his family doesn’t know anything.”

“Quite the career,” said Celegorm, looking out the window. “Winning a world cup and then being a spook slash traitor?”

“Alleged traitor. At any rate, Túrin barely knew his father before he vanished, and his family had a tough time with him gone, especially with the suspicion around the circumstances of his absence. The family had to split up soon after the fallout of Húrin’s disappearance, I think mostly for financial reasons. His mother and little sisters are god knows where, I don’t know if he’s seen them any more recently than he’s seen his father.”

“So who the hell was he living with?”

“My impression is that it was a number of people, foster families and the like, nothing particularly consistent. But in the years leading up to college, he ended up with one family – well, person – in particular.”

“Why haven’t any of them reported him missing? For that matter, why isn’t anyone worried about Beleg going missing?”

“ _I’m_ worried about Beleg going missing,” said Mablung loudly. “But that’s it, see? Túrin mostly stayed with Beleg during the holidays, but Beleg doesn’t exactly have a normal family situation either. He’s literally never mentioned parents the entire time I’ve known him, and if he stays with anyone it’s this crowd of half step cousins or whatever, and there’s so many of them that I don’t think anyone keeps tabs on whether Beleg is there or not. I went and poked around a bit when I was looking for Beleg. I didn’t wanna alarm them or anything, so I didn’t say much, but none of them have seen him in months. Those who had even given it a thought said they assumed he’d been in a place of his own since last summer – well, he _had_ moved in with me, but,” Mablung scowled.  “We know how that turned out.”

“So basically it’s like they were each other’s assigned bus buddies on a field trip,” said Celegorm cheerfully. “Raise your hand if your buddy’s missing, right? But the check-in system falls through when they _both_ vanish.”

“Do you think this is a fuckin’ _joke_ , man?”

“Chill out, I was just making a little analogy, see – ”

“We don’t need analogies, this is someone’s life!” Mablung looked like he was only retraining himself from lunging forward with difficulty. “And for the last time,  _I_ am the one who raises his goddamn hand when Beleg’s not there in your stupid analogy.”

“Okay, okay, you’re right, _sorry._ ” But Celegorm was only half paying attention, narrowing his eyes at the run-down houses they were passing, the rumble of the processing plant audible even inside the car. “Talk about the sketchy part of town, Jesus. Glad we’re not walking.”

“Hard to see how the 99% live, rich boy?” muttered Mablung.

Celegorm ground his teeth and half turned in his seat. “I get that you’re stressed, but yo, give me a break. I am not in the mood to play ‘more oppressed than thou’, so just shut – ”

“We’re almost there,” said Oromë, his deep voice cutting through Celegorm’s snarl. “Rein it in.”

Celegorm threw himself back against the seatback and drummed his fingers on the armrest as Mablung shoved himself against the door and hunched into the hood of his sweatshirt. Celegorm ignored him, looking over at Oromë instead. “Where are we almost? Who are we going to see?”

“The person who coached him in high school,” said Oromë, turning into the driveway of a small, stone house that had clearly once been well tended but was now in disrepair. “The person who kept him off the street and who made sure he actually got somewhere. The person who gave him a home for three years.” Oromë pulled on the emergency break and shut off the engine. “Mîm.”

-

The doorbell didn’t work, but even Oromë’s most respectful knock was too loud for the house’s inhabitant to ignore. They heard footsteps shuffling behind the door, the rattle of a chain, and then the slide of a deadbolt. The man who opened the door was somehow ageless; the face that was almost entirely obscured by a thick black beard could have been youthful or ancient and no one would have been any the wiser. He was short, far shorter than either Celegorm or Mablung, and would have looked child-sized next to Oromë had it not been for his barrel chest and broad shoulders. He looked up, and then further up, his dark eyes decidedly wary. Celegorm and Mablung could hear the little bones in his neck pop as he tilted his head fully back to examine Oromë.

“Hello, Mîm."

“Aldaron,” Mîm said, a rough, gravelly voice that sounded like it came from somewhere beneath his feet. He took a drag on his cigarette, then tossed it down on the front mat. Oromë stepped on it hurriedly while Mîm studied the three of them another long moment.

Then he shut the door in their faces.

Oromë immediately knocked again, polite but insistent.

“Go away,” growled the voice from behind the fogged glass and wrought iron of the door. “You think I haven’t learned by now that visitors are bad news?”

“It’s important,” said Oromë. “It’s – ”

“It’s not my business. No, by god, don’t tell me what it is, I know it’s not my business. The only business that involves me is my own, and I am not so foolish as to think I can dodge the bad luck of others, not when I haven’t managed it umpteen times before, so just – ”

“It’s about Túrin.”

There was a long pause. Then the door swung open again and this time Mîm looked resigned but unsurprised. He let out a heavy sigh and shook another cigarette from the pack in his breast pocket. “Of course it is. I say ‘bad luck’ and ‘Turambar’ can’t be far behind.”

Mablung made a sound that might have been a snort.

“I have to say,” Mîm added, jerking his head at Oromë, “I am surprised to see the likes of you in this part of town.”

“I am sorry for showing up announced. I tried to call, but the number listed in the phone book appeared to be disconnected.”

Mîm grunted. “It’s been disconnected since the break in. And I wouldn’t have picked up, anyway. Come on in, and your little entourage,” he said, eyeing Mablung and Celegorm and then turning back into the house. “Turambar, eh? I should have guessed.”

“It stands to reason,” he said, later, as they crowded around a low table in a dim kitchen and he poured four cups of strong, dark tea from an old teapot. “What else do you and I have in common but the boy? I figure we haven’t spoken since you first called me about recruiting him, back in his senior year. But when I saw you on my stoop, I had a moment thinking maybe Aulë had sent you.”

“Aulë,” Celegorm started to say, looking surprised. “Why would – ”

But Oromë cut him off. “You’re right,” he said, looking at Mîm and accepting the cup of tea with a nod. “We’re here about Túrin.”

“And Beleg,” put in Mablung. “Cúthalion,” he added, challengingly. “You probably haven’t heard of him, he might not have the Turambar rep, but he’s – ”

Oromë put a hand on Mablung’s shoulder and Mablung subsided. “Yes. Túrin and Beleg, another member of the team, are the reason we are here. They are both…missing in action, so to speak.”

“I read about what happened last summer,” said Mîm, fixing a sharp eye on Oromë. “The boy being charged with assault and all that. Do you believe the charges?”

“Beleg never believed it,” said Mablung as Oromë released him. He ignored his tea and planted his elbows on the table. “He always thought there was more to that story, he was obsessed with finding out what. It’s why he went looking for Túrin, and it’s why he’s still out there.”

“Is it, now. If he’s found Túrin, like you seem to think, then why hasn’t he come back?”

“Because he’s obsessed with that kid,” said Mablung, in frustration. “He found him, he told me so, but there must be some reason Túrin doesn’t want to show his face, because that was about the last I heard from Beleg before he disappeared off the face of the earth with him.” He banged a hand down on the table, making the cups jump, and Celegorm reached out to keep Mablung’s from overturning. “What is it about Turambar that makes him so damn _compelling_ to people?”

Smoke curled from the end of Mîm’s cigarette as it flared red and retreated another centimeter, drawing dangerously close to the thicket of his black beard.

“I’ve asked myself that,” he said, and dropped his cigarette carefully into the ashtray. “But anyone could see the kid was special. That’s why I let him stay with me, even though he was as much trouble as he was worth. That’s why Thingol discovered him as a teenager and decided he was worthy of his charity, for all that came as a mixed blessing. That’s why you recruited him, no doubt.” He jabbed a finger at Oromë, who inclined his head. “And that’s probably why your friend wasn’t going to let him vanish.”

“What was so special about him?” demanded Mablung. “Okay, fine, he is a good athlete and not an idiot, and he’s not hideous looking or anything, but as far as I can tell he’s touchy as hell, grumpy as fuck, and likely to go off at the drop of the hat.”

“There’s more to him than that,” said Mîm, and he absently turned over his empty teacup. “It wasn’t what he _could_ do so much as what he did. And how he did it.”

-

The thieves had come to his house the year before. They’d broken in one night wearing ski masks and wielding baseball bats, and one of them, the tallest, a gun. They’d taken everything of value Mîm had, though there was little enough of that at this point, and had broken his collarbone for good measure when they saw him going for the phone.

Túrin had a place to sleep in the dorms by that point, but he still came by some weekends to tell Mîm how he was doing. They'd take a Sunday afternoon to sit in silence together and drink tea, maybe listen to the game on the radio, and let Túrin recount how his training had been going. So it had been Túrin who had found Mîm the next morning, his arm tucked to his chest in a makeshift sling as he worked to right the lamps and bookshelves knocked over the night before. It had been Túrin who had gone pale with fury; Túrin who had gone off in a rage when he found out what had happened, despite Mîm’s insistence that all they needed to do was file a police report, get his arm to the hospital, and count himself lucky nothing worse had happened. Mîm cradled his rage close to his chest like a broken bone, let it out in almost prayerful curses and the words he had shouted after his assailants as they retreated into the night.

But Túrin was never one to restrain his rage.

It was Túrin who had stormed off, and Túrin who returned, a day later, with most of Mîm’s stolen belongings. He had apologized that the money was gone, but the things of personal value he had retrieved – Mîm’s wife’s wedding band; his son’s Purple Heart; the gold chain Mîm had been wearing around his neck the night of the break-in. Mîm took back his treasures wordlessly, and Túrin told him that he wouldn’t have to worry about being bothered anymore; he’d “had a word” with the ones who’d done it and “they won’t be giving you any more trouble”.

Mîm believed him.

Túrin was that sort, he said, sitting over the low table, turning the cup over and over in his hands. The type you trusted when he told you not to worry, even when you knew better. The type you _believed._

And when one day Mîm had come home to Túrin sitting in his kitchen with a bunch of strangers, lean and rangy and ill-dressed, Mîm hadn’t questioned him like he should.

He had his suspicions, later, when he overheard the conversation. His suspicions grew when he listened less to the words than to the voices, and recognized some from nights past, even though this time they weren’t muffled by ski masks.

But he did not make Túrin explain himself.

“You don’t have to worry about them,” Túrin had said, a hand on Mîm’s shoulder. “They’re idiots, honestly, but they aren’t so bad.”

“I can make this work to our benefit,” he said another time, the night before he returned the amount Mîm had lost, in creased bills.

And Mîm had smoked, and turned his teacup over in his hands, and mistrusted the strangers, but had faith in Túrin, despite it all.

_They won’t give you any trouble._

_Not anymore._

_Not unless they want to answer to me._

_-_

“And they didn’t,” said Mîm. “They didn’t want to answer to him. He scared them, young as he was, inexperienced as he was, green as he was. He was special. Anyone could see it.” He blew out a stream of smoke. “He was terrifying. Anyone could see it.”

There was another pregnant pause. Celegorm was looking at the doorframe, where there were old splinters where the door had been kicked in.

Mablung was less preoccupied. “Okay, so he was getting in with this same gang that robbed you. He was establishing ties with the criminal underworld, sounds about right.”

“Mablung,” Oromë started to say.

“No, it fits, doesn’t it? He gets accused of something by the establishment, by the school and authorities who gave him the chance to be educated at all, and so of course the rational thing to do is to seek out their exact opposites. Maybe it’s revenge, maybe it’s just his own weird logic, but it makes total sense that he gets accused of criminal activity and decides to kick it with criminals. And Beleg, Beleg who never even got detention, Beleg who was an actual goddamn hall monitor, is off in some crack den with him. So who are these people, these thugs who broke in? Where are they?” Mablung stared at Mîm, his fist still clenched on the table. “You don’t have to get involved, just tell us what you know and we’ll take it from there. Take all the bad luck away from you, right?”

“I do not believe for a minute I am safe from bad luck,” muttered Mîm. “But I’m afraid you have caught it too, oh heavy-handed one who breaks my cups.” He smiled, an unexpectedly warm and appealing smile. “I have absolutely no idea where they are.”

Mablung swore, and Oromë laid a restraining hand on his shoulder again as he addressed Mîm. “Is there anything you can tell us? Anything at all you know?”

Mîm looked at him for a long moment and then said, “I know one name. Andróg.”

“And what good does that do us?”

“Hush, Mablung.” Oromë was still watching Mîm. “What do you advise we do with that?”

“My advice,” said Mîm, already turning away from them, “if you want to locate those two, is to check the police blotter. Can't help you more that that.”

“I can do one better than that,” said Oromë, even as Mablung pushed back from the table in bitter disappointment and Celegorm sat silent, still staring at the splintered doorframe. “I can check with the Police Chief.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The afternoon was like any other that winter, grey and cold with a frozen rain lashing the windows. Finrod had finished the stack of papers he’d brought over for grading and was now curled into the window seat, absorbed in his reading. Curufin sat at his desk, having completed his assignment and turned to the latest troubleshooting issues with CLBRBR. But he hadn’t paid much attention to his terminal for the last fifteen minutes or so, the screen eventually going black as it went to sleep.

“I think we should have sex,” said Curufin, and Finrod looked up from his book in shock, bringing his head up too quickly and banging it against the window frame.

“Ow!”

“Careful,” said Curufin wryly, as Finrod rubbed his head and let his feet drop from the window seat.

“I’m sorry,” said Finrod, closing his book carefully and standing up. “What did you say?”

“I think we should have sex,” Curufin repeated. He raised his eyebrows as Finrod still looked dumbfounded. “You appear far more shocked than I would have expected.”

“You have to admit it came rather from nowhere,” said Finrod, running a hand over his hair again. “Did I say or do something that instigated this?”

“No.”

“Then why – ”

“I am not allowed to have independent thoughts? To come to my own conclusions? Poor choice of verb there, given the topic of conversation, but…” Curufin trailed off, half smiling as Finrod made a startled noise. “Shall I enumerate the steps by which I came to this topic?” He began to count off reasons on his fingers. “We have been ‘involved’ in some capacity for over a year. We have ventured other intimacies. You have been consistently patient with me.” He looked up and met Finrod’s eyes, which were still wide and curious. “And you haven’t had sex in ten months.” His mouth twisted into a crooked smile. “As far as I know.”

“I haven’t,” said Finrod. “I haven’t been with anyone but you since last March, but that – the amount of time doesn’t matter, Curvo, really.”

“Of course it matters.” Curufin shook his head impatiently and curled his fingers back against his palm. “I know sex matters to you. I know it is something you take pleasure in. It is not for me to deprive you of something you enjoy.”

“And it is not for me to make you do something you don’t want to do,” said Finrod softly. “No part of _that_ would give me pleasure.”

Curufin shrugged. “Who said I don’t want to do it? It’s not a horrifically unappealing thing. I can think of any number of things I’d like to do less.”

“What a ringing endorsement. ‘Not the most unpleasant thing in the world’ is absolutely the way I would like my boyf – partner to describe sex with me.”

“You’re over-interpreting. I have tried other things. I have been okay with them. I would be interested to try this one.”

“For your own sake, or for mine?” Finrod looked dubious.

“For yours,” said Curufin, “but is that such a bad reason?” He laughed as Finrod was rendered speechless once again. “Is it so out of character for me to do something slightly selfless? Is this _really_ how I render you lost for words? Goodness, I should try altruism more often, it has such a charmingly stupefying effect on you.”

“Oh, shut up,” said Finrod, but he was smiling too as he reached out to grab his hands, pulling Curufin close. “Stop being such a sarcastic fiend, I was just taken by surprise, that’s all. I didn’t expect this.” He kissed the corner of Curufin’s mouth softly and Curufin turned his head to meet his lips. “I didn’t need this.”

“But do you want it?”

“Do I want to have sex with you?” Finrod hesitated. “Of course I do.”

“Good. Then that’s settled.” Curufin slid his hands up to Finrod’s elbows and turned him briskly around, urging him over to the bed.

“What? Are we doing this _now_?”

“We can do it whenever, but sit down, I have thought some things over and here’s what I propose.” Curufin pushed Finrod to sit on the bed and then started pacing back and forth before him, hands behind his back. “I’ve looked up some things online – ”

“Oh _no_ ,” said Finrod, looking like he didn’t know whether to laugh or wince.

“ – technical details, logistics I mean, not…erotica.” Curufin paused. “Well, a little bit of erotica. I didn’t want to be taken _entirely_ by surprise.” He chewed his lip, looking momentarily uncertain. “Is, ah, is broad spectrum hair removal as common in the general populace as it is in the, uh, adult entertainment industry? Because if so – ”

“Don’t worry about that, Curvo,” said Finrod quickly. “Really, it is not at all necessary.”

“ – if so, we would have to postpone a little longer, is all.” Curufin looked like he was fighting a blush. “But if you say it is a non-issue, I’ll believe you. You know better than I. But as for logistics: I have looked into the best types of condoms and lubricant and procured some, though I admit I remain skeptical as to how – how you will – ” He broke off, looking like he didn’t know the words for what he was trying to explain. “How you will _fit_ ,” he said, and then he did blush.

“Oh,” said Finrod, whose color was also high. “I mean, there are ways of preparing – I would never try anything without a lot of – but Curvo, we do not have to assume I will be in that role. I am more than happy to have you take – I mean, be on top.”

“No,” said Curufin, very quickly. “I mean, you know what you are doing. You should take the lead in the more, um, skilled role.”

“Skill has nothing to do with it. I promise you it is no hardship for me to lead from the bottom.”

“No.” Curufin retreated a little now. “No, I don’t think I could do it. I mean. Be in- inside you.” He swallowed hard. “That is not something that particularly appeals to me. Being…within someone else.”

Finrod looked concerned. “But you would be okay with the reverse?”

“More okay, anyway.” Curufin nodded, still looking down. “Will you be?”

“Yes, certainly, I can do either. Whatever. Anything.”

“Also that way, if my…interest flags, it won’t affect you.”

Finrod rose to his feet again and reached out for Curufin. “There is _no way_ I will keep going if your ‘interest flags’, top or bottom or upside down. Are you joking? You know I will stop the moment you don’t want to keep going, right?”

“No, I know that. This isn’t about me wanting to stop, though I suppose I might. No, it's that I might have moments where it is difficult for me to be as…physically enthusiastic, and it would be helpful if I wasn’t the one driving things. Less pressure.”

“You seem to have given it a lot of thought,” said Finrod, who still looked cautious. “What are your other thoughts?”

“I have a list,” said Curufin, and went back to his desk.

-

They both sat back on their heels and surveyed the bed. Curufin was ticking things off on his fingers again. “House to ourselves, check. Tyelko and Makalaurë are both at work, Moryo is in class, and Irissë is at Elenwë’s for the weekend. Proper supplies, check.” He looked thoughtfully at the small, discreetly labeled bottle, and the neat foil packet. “Though apparently some dislike the decreased sensitivity of prophylactics. Will that be an issue for you?”

“No,” said Finrod. “I mean, I don’t know that a condom is strictly necessary – I have been tested since I last was, ah, intimate with someone else, and you have never had the need – But that aside, I am fine with using one, for security’s sake.”

“Well,” said Curufin, who was once again fighting a blush. “There is also the matter of the aftermath. Mess. A condom will contain some of the – I might prefer that to having – Spare the sheets a little.” His voice trailed off and he briefly looked like he was contemplating details he’d rather not elaborate on, as well as flight. Finrod looked like he knew what Curufin was thinking.

“Good thinking,” was all he said, resting his hand on Curufin’s shoulder. “I think we should use the condom, it will simplify things.”

Curufin looked down at his lap, and then took a deep breath. “Very well,” he said, and began to untuck his shirt. “Then I suppose there’s no reason to put it off anymore. Let’s get started.” His businesslike tone was belied by the way his hands were shaking, and Finrod took them gently and kissed the knuckles.

“If you are ready.”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Curufin looked up and saw the flicker of concern in Finrod's eyes again. He leaned forward and kissed Finrod, bolder than usual. “No, don’t look like that, Ingoldo, I want this. Really, I am ready. But now, if you don’t mind – can you lead, please?”

“Of course.”

“Good,” said Curufin, and despite his nerves, his eyes glinted. “Let us see if you are all the rumors say.” And as Finrod opened his mouth, half laughing, Curufin pulled his shirt over his head.

-

“You know,” murmured Finrod, a little while later. “I confess I’m a little nervous too.”

“What do you have to be nervous of?” Curufin thought a moment. “Unless you fear encountering something unexpected from me. Is there anything unexpected about me? Does everything seem…normal?”

“You are perfect.”

“Yes, yes, okay, charming answer, if not the most helpful. But what are you afraid of?”

“This is your first time,” said Finrod, running his thumb over Curufin’s cheekbone “And I am supposed to be the experienced one, the one who’s supposed to make it good. I want to deliver.”

Curufin rolled his eyes. “Because I have _so much_ to compare you to. You know you could introduce Irish step dance into the bed and I’d have no real basis for determining if that was standard sexual procedure or not.”

“Except for all your internet research.”

“The Internet is proof-positive against _nothing_ , let me tell you.”

“Still.” Finrod tucked his head briefly against the dip between Curufin’s chest and shoulder. “I am a little nervous.”

“You should be. If you make any mistakes, I’ll leave you.”

“ _Curvo_.” Finrod held him tighter and bit reproachfully at his skin. “Don’t say such things.”

“What? It is the god’s honest truth,” said Curufin, but he wrapped his arms around Finrod and held him close, pressing his mouth to Finrod’s hair and running his thumb against the nape of Finrod's neck.  He felt certain Finrod could hear the thundering of his heart beneath his ear, and his fingers tightened in Finrod’s hair as he tried to steady his breathing. “Now are you going to do this or not? I believe in you, if it helps.”

“It does.” Finrod raised his head and kissed the tip of Curufin’s nose. “Shall we?”

-

Curufin held very still and tried breathing. It seemed to work. He concentrated on letting his fingers loosen from the sheets, and instead brought them up to rest lightly on Finrod’s shoulders. Finrod opened his mouth, and Curufin quickly covered it.

“Please stop asking how I’m doing. It gets redundant. Let us assume unless stated otherwise that I am doing fine, shall we?”

“But,” Finrod started to say.

“I’m doing _fine_ , for the five millionth time. How are you?” Curufin’s voice came out tinged with sharp irony, and he was pleased to hear that it was totally steady. “What usually helps, here? How best can I exhort you? Words of encouragement? Dirty talk?” He pulled his hand from Finrod’s mouth.

“If you are so inspired.” Finrod’s eyes sparkled. “Do you have dirty talk prepared?”

“I do not know if I am equipped with the right vocabulary,” muttered Curufin. “The examples I unearthed online were frankly farcical. The ways people discover to speak about titillating the rectum…”

“Lord, one must never say ‘rectum’ in flagrante delicto. Quite kills the mood.” Finrod looked thoughtful as he shifted low on the bed, his hands on Curufin’s hips as he kissed Curufin’s bare stomach. “Euphemisms work. I’ve always been fond of ‘opening’ or ‘entrance’…”

Curufin made a face. “It sounds like an architectural schematic. Cannot one simply call an asshole an asshole?”

“One could. Would you like to?”

“Just because one could doesn’t mean one should. I’m sure it’s all contextual. For example – ” Curufin broke off with a gasp as Finrod dipped his head. “ _Ingo_.”

“Do you mind if I skip vocabulary altogether and show rather than tell?”

“I think that sounds like…the right narrative choice.”

“Don’t be afraid to interject with commentary at any point,” said Finrod, pressing an affectionate kiss to Curufin’s thigh, and then returning to the task at hand as Curufin clapped a hand over his mouth, quite forgetting there was no one around to hear him.

-

Finrod braced himself over Curufin and reached down to stroke his cheek. Curufin shied away. “Ugh. That’s not the same hand you were using for – ”

“No, I promise.” Finrod smiled, his beautiful, blinding smile that still made Curufin’s heartbeat stutter in his ears. “Are you doing okay? I am allowed to ask that again, I don’t care what you said before.”

“I am…doing fine,” said Curufin carefully.

Finrod leaned down and pressed their lips together, kissing Curufin almost chastely, an odd sensation given their position. “You are very beautiful, you know.”

Curufin rolled his eyes as Finrod slid a hand into his hair. He focused once again on breathing, and decided to keep practicing keeping his voice even. “Oh yes, nothing like exploring the glories of my impeccable asshole – sorry, ‘entrance’ – to discover my true beauty.”

“ _Curvo_.” Finrod pressed their foreheads together, shaking with suppressed laughter. “Don’t say things like that when I’m inside you, it’s very distracting.”

“God forbid I distract you. If you take your eyes off the road, we might crash.”

“And this bed doesn’t even have guardrails.”

“I’ve complained about that before. So you’re inside me.” Curufin drew in a breath, his hands tightening on Finrod’s sides. He was trembling less now that it didn’t hurt, but his legs were very tight around Finrod’s waist. “That is an odd thought.”

“Is it a bad thought?” asked Finrod softly, moving his hips slightly, and Curufin closed his eyes, his fingers digging into Finrod’s skin.

“No, not really, but - I don’t know why you want to do it.”

“I can elaborate on the beauty of your impeccable asshole, if you’d like.”

It was Curufin’s turn to let out a startled burst of laughter, and then he bit his lip to hold back a gasp as Finrod moved a hand over him.

“Is this good?”

“Yes,” said Curufin after a minute, his eyes still closed, breathing through his nose. “Yes, that is good.” He opened his eyes again as Finrod nuzzled a kiss against the crease of his neck. “Is sex supposed to be this ridiculous? I feel we shouldn’t be so amused about it.”

“Sex _is_ ridiculous,” Finrod informed him, “And laughter while making love is a good thing, I think.”

“Because you find me so hilarious?”

“Because it is fun,” said Finrod, and kissed him. “And silly, and wonderful, and because I am happy.”

“I always thought,” said Curufin, as Finrod settled into a slow, easy rhythm, “that sex was supposed to be either agony or ecstasy. That's how it always seems to be described.”

“And instead you find it…?”

“Awkward,” said Curufin, thinking about it as he ran both hands absently up Finrod's sides, tracing his ribs with the light touch he knew Finrod liked. “But not uncomfortable, not after the first bit, anyway. Funny, but not stupid or humiliating. And…it feels better than I thought, but I wouldn’t call it ecstasy.”

“The ecstasy,” said Finrod, pressing gently against Curufin’s knees and lifting him slightly to change the angle, “can always come with time.” He moved again, and this time Curufin couldn’t hold back his gasp, his fingernails suddenly biting into Finrod's side. “Good?”

“Good,” whispered Curufin, a little amazed, and shut his eyes again as he held Finrod between his palms, between his thighs, and then, pulling him down, against his lips.  

-

The sheets and blankets were tangled, but thanks to their precautions not too terribly impacted by their exertions. Curufin thought about this, and then wondered where the condom had gone; Finrod must have been very quick to take care of it after, or else maybe it was still somewhere in the blankets –

He felt around discretely with his toes, and Finrod murmured sleepily, “I wrapped it up and threw it away.”

“Oh. Good.”

Finrod stretched out an arm and Curufin rolled into it. He was still a long time, his face hidden against Finrod’s neck. Finrod stroked his hair and kissed his bare shoulder.

“Was that how it should go?” asked Curufin at last, turning back and staring at the ceiling.

“It was perfect,” said Finrod, laying a hand against his chest and resting his head on Curufin’s shoulder. “You were perfect.”

“That’s obviously not true.”

“I don’t care.” Finrod turned his face into Curufin’s hair, which was uncharacteristically mussed. “You can’t make me take it back.”

“Fine, I won’t force the point.” Curufin swallowed and carefully touched the back of Finrod’s head. “I don’t know how often I can do that,” he whispered, after a while. “It wasn’t bad – It was good, at the end, but – I don’t know.”

“That’s okay,” said Finrod, his hand sliding over Curufin’s chest so he could wrap an arm around him. “We don’t have to ever do it again, if you don’t want to. There are plenty of other things we can do, or try – or not.”

“Not never. No, I want to – Just not always.” Curufin took a breath, and fumbled for Finrod's hand, not sure why he suddenly felt the need to hold his fingers so tightly. “I am glad we did it. I hope I will be better at it in the future, if we try again. But I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do what you did. Be on top. It’s just looks like…too much for me. But that’s not fair to you, because I know that’s what you like, I know that’s what you – ”

“A person is allowed to like more than one thing,” said Finrod mildly.

“But I heard you,” said Curufin, and he closed his eyes, his hand still tight around Finrod's. Something was building, swelling his throat with sudden emotion, sudden panic. “I used to hear you, with him.”

“Curvo – ”

“I know what you like, how _much_ you like it, and how am I supposed to compete – how can I possibly – ”

“Curvo – ”

“I can’t be like him, I’ll never be like him, I’ll never be able to do what he did for you, and how will I ever be enough?” These last words came out in a rush, almost frantic, and Finrod sat up and pulled him into his arms.

“You are enough. I am not martyring myself or sacrificing some part of myself to be with you, I am with you because you are the one I want. _Everyone_ is different, every lover is unique, and I don’t choose who I’m with because I want exactly what I had before.”

“But why would you choose me at all?” cried Curufin. “Why would you stay with me, when I can’t give you all you need, why would you want something like me, something this complicated and needy and _odd,_ when you could have anyone?”

Finrod took Curufin’s face between his hands and waited until Curufin relented and met his eyes. Finrod's eyes were blue and warm and very tender as he said, patiently and plainly, “Because I love you.”


	73. In the valley where my heart sinks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A snowstorm brings shenanigans and the return of Neithan the Wronged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Warnings for tonal whiplash.
> 
> Don’t stop loving me.

 

_**To:**  "Nolofinwë" <fingolfin@finwecorp.com>_

_**From:**  "Irissë" <ar-feiniel@gmail.com>_

_**Subject:** fine time to take a business trip, pops_

_How dare you schedule your life without taking into consideration the fact that I might want to drop by unannounced out of the blue and chat with you sometime maybe????_

_Hey dad, miss you._

_Mom might have mentioned that I came by the house on Monday to talk to you, only to learn that you’d just left for the week. ‘On business,’ apparently. What’s the business trip for?? Neither she nor Finno will tell me. Well, they both said things along the lines of ‘You’d have to ask him’ and ‘Dad goes on a lot of business trips, what’s it to ya, squirt?’ I had to remind Finno that it is rich for him to call me squirt when we are the same height and have been since high school. Not that we’re keeping track, of course, because that would be childish, but I may even be a little taller these days, having been doing yoga and putting air in my spine, or whatever they say it does, while he hunches over his computer like the desk jockey he is. (Get him a standing desk, or a new job, or something, huh Mr. President?) Turno and Arko, of course, could spend their lives compressing their spines crouching in badger dens and they'd still be taller than all of us._

_Observe: me, doing what we call ‘buffering’/‘delaying’/‘making jokes to put off the inevitable.’_

_Because you know me, so good with the expressing of feelings._

_I really did want to tell you all this in person, but if I wait ‘til you’re back, half of it will have already happened, which feels lame and not fair to you since mom is already caught up to speed, and she says you’d want to know. Part of me appreciates that I can write it and not say it anyway, considering the embarrassing amount of snot and tears I deposited on momma when I told her. (This is making it sound really terrible. It’s not that terrible.)_

_The first part: I’m moving in with Elenwë next weekend. This is probably a relief to you in terms of the ‘no longer living with a bunch of stinky [Fëanorion] dudes in a stinky [Fëanorion] house’, and I hear it is also one of those big, positive life step things. I’m moving in with my girlfriend! Who the HELL thought I’d ever get to say that? Not me, but apparently you owe mom money now. Still, the house on Mithrim Lake isn’t actually that stinky, and I’ll miss it and my dumb boys, but they say they’ll help me get my stuff across town and won’t even break any of it out of spite, so that’s something. The next biggest hurdle will be convincing Lómion to stop harassing Idril, because the next time he creeps up on her I’m pretty sure she’ll take his ears off. She’s bigger than him now._

_The second part: I’ve been going to Alcoholics Anonymous for a couple months now._

_Because I am an alcoholic. As they say._

_When I told mom, there was a lot more explanation and context and emotion and, as I said, snot, but I figure being blunt works as well as anything else. I don’t think it comes as a surprise to you or mom that I’ve had kinda of lousy coping mechanisms in the past, and am slightly prone to self-destruction (eg taking unnecessary risks, deciding to fall in love with my brother’s girlfriend, cultivating friendships with creatures like Tyelko etc etc; this is called humor to diffuse tension, look at me going to twelve step programs and identifying behavior patterns in myself, haha, okay mom got the snot, you’re getting parenthetical diarrhea, I’m really sorry)_

_Here are the bullet-points, sans logorrhea:_

  *       _I’m in AA._
  *       _I’m also in therapy. (Thank Tyelko for that, believe it or not)_
  *       _I’m coming up on a month of sobriety._
  *       _I’m working on getting a sponsor._



_Some of the meetings I go to are open, if you ever want to tag along and see what it’s about, and you can totally ask me any questions you have, too._

_Aaaand that’s what I’ve got for now/as much mature adulting as I can handle. If it’s cool with you, I’m going to close with carefully calibrated small talk, because that’s probably what I would do if this was a face to face conversation._

_We got a bunch of snow last night (Winter Storm Chewbacca! Actually, I don’t know if NOAA okayed that one, but I like naming random weather events almost as much as I like naming cats). Just about everyone’s got a snow day or is playing hooky, and if the roads clear, I think some of us will head north to ski. If they don’t clear, we’ll probably just ski off the roof. (Just kidding. The best roof access is through Makalaurë’s window, and he won’t let us in.) But the Arafinwions are itching to go ‘off-piste’ or whatever eurotrash phrasing they use to describe making us all eat their powder, and I will definitely go get piste with them if I can locate my skis. The Fëanorions will probably snowboard because they are, as we know, the worst._

_Hope your trip is going well._

_Love_

_Ris_

 

Aredhel sat cross-legged on the floor and stared down at the laptop. She rolled out her neck, cracked her knuckles, and hit send quickly, like she was swatting a particularly objectionable bug on her keyboard. Then she slammed the laptop closed and tossed it onto the bed while letting out a little _whoosh_ of breath.

“Ow!” said the bed.

“Oops.” Aredhel cringed apologetically and got onto her knees, peering over the mattress to the bundle of blankets and pillows. “Forgot you were there, El.”

“Thanks,” said Elenwë grumpily. She poked her head up over the quilt, her hair snarled and sticking up over one ear. “Oh look, it’s still cold. Still snowing, too. _Heinous_.” She retreated again. “Wake me up in April.”

“Your winter aversion was cute the first five times,” said Aredhel, pinching where she approximated Elenwë’s backside was beneath the blankets. “But this is getting a bit ridiculous. You _do_ know we live above the 40 th parallel, right? This is an occurrence that happens every year, this winter deal.”

“You don’t know that,” said Elenwë’s voice from beneath the covers. “I hear this global warming thing is legit.”

“Do not speak so glibly about the death of winter." Aredhel shuddered and began digging through half-packed boxes for her snow pants. "Hey, so I sent that email to my dad.”

Elenwë’s face appeared once again from the blankets. “You did?” She sat up and tucked a curl of hair behind one ear, drawing her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. “How’d that feel?”

Aredhel shrugged and pulled on a pair of thick long underwear. “It was a lot easier than telling him in person.” She straightened out her socks and adjusted her elastic waistband. “Of course it means now I have to wait like a shivering madman for him to reply and I’ll invent all kinds of things that could go wrong in the meantime and probably start drinking again to cope.” She caught sight of Elenwë’s expression and added, “Kidding.” She pulled on her snow pants over her long underwear and hopped across the floor as she wiggled them over her hips. “Was that an unfunny joke? Yes, okay, noted that that was a bad joke, got it, put your face away.”

Elenwë mumbled something about where Aredhel could put her face, but eventually yielded and rolled out of bed, yelping as her feet hit the cold floor. She proceeded to bundle herself into as many sweaters as she could locate while Aredhel snapped her suspenders over her thermal top and tugged a hat over her hair. Elenwë was reaching the point at which she could no longer bend her arms properly, so Aredhel caught her around the waist and pulled her out of the bedroom, leaping nimbly over the boxes on the floor. They thumped down the stairs as Aredhel pulled on bulky ski mittens, and paused to wave into the kitchen.

Curufin was sitting at the table, leaning back in his chair reading a cereal box and looking bored while Finrod and Maglor had a heated discussion over the coffee pot about –

“If you’re debating rhythm,” said Aredhel, bumping Elenwë across the foyer in the direction of their snow boots, “then I think consistency and avoiding the jackhammer effect are the most important things to keep in mind.”

“Alas,” said Curufin, still studying the nutritional value of Raisin Bran, “that they are actually debating _musical_ rhythm. I agree, of course, that jackhammers should be avoided there as well.”

Maglor folded his arms, looking annoyed at the interruption, but Finrod laughed and plucked the cereal from Curufin’s hands. “Fine, Makalaurë, I will concede your point on compositional structure if you concede that the rule is only proven if you take into account the exceptions I pointed out.” Finrod ate a raisin from the box and perched on the chair next to Curufin, nudging him over slightly.

“Maybe.” Maglor curled his lip. “But I refuse to accept your point on Brahms, you madman.”

Elenwë, who now looked as bored as Curufin, levered herself up on the counter to look out the window. “Why does it look like there’s a tailgate taking place outside?”

“Because there’s a tailgate taking place outside.”

“Isn’t it the wrong season for that?” asked Elenwë. “Shouldn’t we be drinking hot cocoa and curled up by the – no, okay, I see how it is.” 

From the front yard, loud whoops greeted Aredhel’s appearance, along with the sound of an engine revving. Smoke rose from a grill that had been wedged into a snow bank, and red cups were in prominence, containing something that almost certainly wasn’t hot cocoa. Someone was playing music loudly through small speakers, and someone else was yelling.

“If you go over fifteen at the curve, Tyelko, I will _actually_ castrate you.”

“Ahh, Andreth baby, live a little.”

“I’m _trying_ to, that’s why I mentioned it.”

Elenwë, who had followed warily at Aredhel’s heels and already had her hands stuffed into her armpits against the cold, groaned. “I don’t even want to know.”

Aredhel settled her hat at a more rakish angle. “Street skiing.”

“No.”

“The plows haven’t come by yet, the conditions are perfect…”

“No.”

“It’s totally safe.”

“It _really_ isn’t.”

Behind the wheel of the Fëanorions’ ancient minivan, Celegorm revved the engine and then started slowly down the snow-covered street. Behind the car, Andreth dropped her ski goggles down over her eyes and wrapped her mittened hands around the towline that was tied to the hitch.

“Ready?” Celegorm called.

Andreth dropped into a starting crouch. “Gun it!”

The car sped up, and Andreth sailed behind it, her skis carving through the fresh powder. Cheers filled the air again, and Elenwë covered her eyes.

Celegorm did one slow loop of the cul-de-sac, pulling Andreth behind the car in a spray of snow, speeding up around the final curve. As he did, Andreth let go of the rope and leaned into the shoulder of the road, where a small jump had been built out of the packed snow. As she cleared it, Aegnor let out a piercing whistle and whooped. “That’s my _girl._ ”

Celegorm came to a stop in front of the house as Andreth popped off her skis and tossed snow into Aegnor’s face as he tried to approach her. He dodged, laughing, and grabbed her anyway as Celegorm saluted Aredhel and gestured to the crowd.

“Who’s next?”

Maglor came out of the house, wearing a tight fitting jean jacket entirely unsuited to the season, and Celegorm honked the horn. “You want a go, Káno?”

“You couldn’t pay me to ‘have a go’,” said Maglor, and bee-lined for the bench by the mailbox, where Caranthir was lounging with a cigarette. “Share?”

“Only if you go put on a real coat first, you frigid hipster.”

Celegorm tapped his fingers idly on the wheel. “I’ve got half an hour before I need to go to work. Who’s up? Speak now, or forever hold your – ”

“Ingo!” A snow-covered Aegnor caught ahold of Finrod, who’d followed Maglor out and was standing watching with Curufin on the front steps. Curufin immediately retreated, an expression of intense skepticism on his face, but Finrod was laughing.

“Oof. Aiko, no, let go – ”

“Take a spin!” Aegnor started to manhandle Finrod down the steps. “Come on, you did ski team, you can do it.”

“Oh, I don’t know…”

Curufin looked at him from where he'd planted himself against the doorframe. “Seriously? You want to risk your neck on _this?_ ”

“I don’t even have my skis or boots,” demurred Finrod, still being propelled down the front walk as Aegnor deposited snow down his neck in a fond sort of way. “And – ”

“Wear mine! We’ve got the same size feet.”

“Absolutely insane,” said Curufin, and then raised a hand to his forehead in disbelief as Finrod shrugged and followed his brother. “Seriously? Is this how you want to die?”

Finrod shrugged. “It’s as good a way as any.” He smiled as Curufin rolled his eyes but didn't leave the doorway.

By the sidewalk, Finrod shed his wool coat and accepted a helmet and goggles from Andreth and turned to Aegnor. “Where are your boots?” 

Andreth chuckled at the sight of him in his neat argyle sweater and grey slacks as he pulled off his shoes and buckled on Aegnor’s ski boots. “It’s a good look,” she said, shoving the helmet down over Finrod’s eyes, and Curufin shook his head.

“It’s really _not_.”

Fashion choices notwithstanding, soon Finrod was clipped into Aegnor’s skis and had dropped Andreth’s goggles over his eyes. He tightened a pair of borrowed mittens over his hands, and picked up the towline. “If I die,” he called to Curufin, “You can say ‘I told you so’.”

“I look forward to it.”

At that point, Galadriel, who had been sitting on the bench with Caranthir and Maglor, got to her feet. She was already in full ski gear, and she waved her hand that wasn’t holding a red cup. “Tyelkormo!”

“Yeah?”

“How do you feel about doubling up?”

“Always good,” said Celegorm. “But wait, specify.”

Galadriel passed her cup to Maglor and pushed off from the bench so that she glided on her own skis to Finrod’s side. “This hitch can take two ropes, yes?”

Celegorm grinned. “I’m always down for an Arafinwion double-team. Hook on up, Artanis.” He glanced at the dashboard clock and winced. “And then, fools, I gotta go to work.”

Aredhel jeered loudly from the sidelines. “Booo. I haven’t even gone yet!”

“Triple team!” said Celegorm brightly, but was shouted down.

 

* * *

 

Mablung started his shift on time, and alone.

His shift-mate didn’t show up until forty minutes past the hour, jogging down the trail to the aviary as he pulled on the orange vest that the preserve had all their rangers wear over his bulky winter parka. Celegorm yanked a furry hat with earflaps over his head and caught his breath, while Mablung wordlessly handed him a shovel. Apart from their nod of greeting, they exchanged few words as they set to work shoveling out the enclosure and the paths around it. As the snow finally stopped falling, the eagle Thoronodor shook his great head and flapped his wings, hopping off his perch to investigate Celegorm as he knocked snow off low-hanging branches that were creaking dangerously under the weight.

Mablung watched as Celegorm chuckled and murmured to the bird under his breath, inquiring, indistinct sounds that made Thorondor twist his head curiously. The eagle clacked his beak and fluffed out his feathers, snapping playfully at the snow Celegorm flicked his way, until Mablung realized he was so preoccupied with watching this exchange that he hadn’t bent his back to his task in several minutes. He had just turned away to start clearing the path to the owl cages when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Sticking his shovel upright in a snow bank, he dragged off his hat to wipe his brow, and then pulled out his phone, holding his gloves between his teeth so he could unlock the screen with bare fingers.

“Oh,” he said in surprise. “Oromë is texting me.” As Celegorm looked up, his eyes narrowing, Mablung belatedly remembered an exchange that had taken place not far from here, and not long ago, in which Celegorm had made him promise never to say Oromë’s name to him again. But perhaps, Mablung thought, the point was moot now that they – Mablung’s forehead furrowed as he read the text, and quite lost his train of thought.

Celegorm turned away from the eagle and tossed his own hat down on the ground, shaking his head so that his sweat-soaked hair flopped into his eyes. “Oh, good, that’s just what I like to hear, that my boyfriend is texting you.” He shoved his shovel into the snow alongside Mablung’s. “What, are you two like bffs now, texting all the – ”

“Get a grip, Fëanorion." Mablung waved an impatient hand at him. "This is the first I’ve gotten from him since we – went to – ” Mablung lost focus again and trailed off, re-reading the text to make sure he understood it, as Celegorm raised his eyebrows.

“Well, what is it?”

“He says he heard from his brother-in-law. The police chief.” His phone buzzed with another text message and Mablung opened it at once. His eyes widened. “Oh my god. They found Túrin?”

Celegorm stopped drumming his fingers against his thigh. “No shit. Where?”

“He doesn’t say. But they...the police have _spoken_ to him? Holy shit, wait that can’t be right, but...” Mablung’s heart was starting to thunder in his chest. “Oromë says he’s heading over to the station now to find out more, and he’ll wait at the front entrance for me. I can go hear what Tulkas has to say, I can meet him in fifteen minutes if I – ” Mablung broke off and glanced over. Celegorm was watching him, his expression unreadable. “If I leave now.” Celegorm still didn’t say anything, and Mablung dragged his free hand through his hair, frustrated and anxious. “I know my shift isn’t over.” He glanced unhappily at the yet unshoveled paths and then back at his phone as Oromë texted him the station address. “Shit. I’ve still got until 5:30.”

Celegorm sighed, his breath a cloud in the cold air. “Go ahead.”

“What?”

“Go ahead, go meet Oromë at the station. See what the news about Túrin is, I’ll cover for you.”

“Really?” Mablung reached out and gripped Celegorm’s arm, gratitude making him unwise.  “Are you sure? Fëanorion, seriously, I – ”

“Get a grip, Lungumá.” Celegorm pulled himself free and gave a crooked smile. “This just means you’re gonna owe me a favor.”

Mablung did not pause to interrogate the situation further; however much Celegorm’s generosity might give him cause for confusion and suspicion, he knew it was no time to pass up on the opportunity offered. He clapped Celegorm on the shoulder – Celegorm looked pained – and took off, all but running down the path to the parking lot and his car.

-

Oromë was waiting outside the police station when Mablung pulled up, standing so still against the brick wall that at first, Mablung didn’t see him. “I realized I should have offered to pick you up,” he said as Mablung parked haphazardly and sprinted to the front door, nearly tripping as he spotted Oromë and drew up short. “I hope it wasn’t an inconvenience – ”

“No problem, no problem,” said Mablung quickly, waving a hand. “I got here fine, I’ve got a car. What’s the deal?”

“I’m not sure yet.” Oromë held open the door and gestured. “We’ll find out more from Tulkas.”

Tulkas was waiting for them in his office, a file open before him, his ruddy face grave as he pored over it, pausing at one point to give a photograph particular scrutiny.

He closed the file when they came in and nodded perfunctorily as Oromë introduced Mablung. “Have a seat, you two.”

Mablung sat but immediately leaned forward, perched at the edge of his chair. “What do you know?”

Tulkas linked his fingers over his belly and looked at Oromë. “So the name you gave me a while back, Andróg: You wanted to know if I’d seen him in any reports of criminal activity. At the time I said no, but of course he could be using a different name…”

“Yes, I remember,” said Oromë, as Mablung made a barely suppressed noise of impatience. “You said you’d keep looking. Did you find him?”

“Not exactly. But I’ve been keeping my ear to the ground for you and had my folks on the alert for anyone coming in with that name or talking about the boys you mentioned, Turambar and Cúthalion.”

Mablung was barely in his chair at this point, his impatience so tangible as to be a separate entity. “Did it work? Were you able to track them down? Do you know where they are?”

Tulkas shook his head slowly. “ ‘They’? There is no ‘they’. There is just him. Just the boy.”

Mablung shook his head decisively. “Beleg wouldn’t leave him. If Túrin’s around, Beleg won’t be far behind. Did you find him through that Andróg person? He’ll know.”

“There was no need to use Andróg.”

Oromë frowned. “What do you mean?”

Tulkas picked up the file, glanced at the photograph clipped to the front once more, then laid it down. “Turambar walked in here on his own, Oromë. He’s in my cells right now. He turned himself in.”

-

“He doesn’t look good,” said Tulkas, as they walked down the hall to the holding cell. “But I promise you he came to us like that, we didn’t touch him – ”

“Don’t worry, I trust you.”

“I don’t,” muttered Mablung, “but it’s true that Turambar’s never had a problem getting himself messed up on his own.”

Tulkas didn’t seem affected by Mablung’s skepticism. “One of my officers took his statement, or as much of it as he could understand. That was the first trick - the name he gave us wasn't the one you told me. I don't suppose the name 'Neithan' means anything to you? No? But I thought I recognized him from that picture you sent from the team website, and then we ran his prints against some taken from Turambar's residence after the Orgol case. Seems to be the same kid. Anyway, we took some pictures, and we're going to follow up on what he told us, the usual procedure. We offered to get him cleaned up and check out any injuries he might have, but he refused. He wouldn’t let anyone touch him without a fight, and we figured it might cause more trouble to force him.” But Tulkas looked troubled. “He’s not hurt so far as we can tell, but…”

“But?” Oromë was looking more and more grave.

"The statement he gave - "

The rest of what Tulkas was going to say was cut off as they came to the holding cell and Mablung let out a soft curse.

“Jesus, you weren’t kidding.”

Túrin was crouching in the center of the small cell, practically kneeling on the ground, his hands covering his face. He was taller than Mablung remembered him from the few times he’d seen him as a skinny freshman, when he'd been all gangling limbs and still had a slight childish roundness to his face. He was leaner now, ropey muscles standing out in his bare forearms as he dug his fingers into his tangled black hair. He was whispering something to the ground, his voice a gravelly singsong, his words indistinguishable. Tulkas stood back, locking his hands before him as he watched silently.

Oromë crossed to the cell first. “Túrin.” He touched the bars, trying to get Túrin’s attention. “Túrin, are you okay?”

Túrin didn’t respond, just kept half whispering, half singing, to the floor.

“I know you’ve been through a lot, but we’re here to help you out. Can you tell me if you’re okay? Are you hurt at all?”

Túrin shook his head frantically, but because his face was still covered as he mumbled on, it wasn’t clear if it was in response to Oromë’s question or not.  

Oromë took a breath. “We know about what happened last summer. Don’t worry, Mablung’s spoken with Nellas, and we know the incident with Saeros was self-defense. You’re not going to be prosecuted for that, you have my word for it. Anything that’s happened since can be sorted out, I’m sure, and between us and Thingol we can raise enough for your bail – ”

“No.” Túrin didn’t raise his head, but he stopped whispering. His voice was hoarse, as if it had been stripped from overuse, and came out muffled by his hands. “No bail.”

“It’s just part of the process. Son, we can at least get you out of here and home, get you clean and comfortable…” Oromë’s voice trailed off as Túrin pulled his hands away from his face. They saw that his hands were filthy, stained with something dark brown that had flaked off in places, dirtying his face. His grey eyes were red-rimmed and wild, standing out starkly against his tan skin.

Oromë started to speak again, his voice sharp with concern, but Mablung had been turning around scanning the room, half convinced he’d find what he was looking for despite all evidence to the contrary.

“Where’s Beleg?” he demanded now, striding across the room. “He never goes anywhere without you, it’s why we’re here, isn’t it? So where is he? Are they keeping him somewhere else? Did you ditch him somewhere?” Oromë reached out and laid a hand on Mablung’s shoulder, and Mablung stilled, quieting only slightly.

“Mablung, he’s not here, Tulkas said it was just – ”

Mablung ignored him, still watching Túrin fixedly. “If we bail you out you can show us where he is, so don’t be an idiot, Turambar.”

Túrin made a noise that sounded at first like a laugh, until his voice broke on a rough sob. “No bail!” he cried again, his voice higher and out of control. “No bail, you have to leave me here, no, don’t you _dare_ – ” This as Oromë stepped closer, and Túrin staggered back and grabbed ahold of the cell’s sink. “You can’t take me out of here!”

“You’re safe now,” said Oromë soothingly. “We won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“Hurt me? Hurt me! God, god, that’s a laugh, I wish you could hurt me, but that never seems to happen, no, instead – Instead – ”

“You don’t need to be a martyr, Túrin,” said Oromë. “We know you’ve been through a lot, but don’t refuse help just because you feel you don’t deserve it. That does no one any good in the long run.”

“I do no good,” muttered Túrin. “No good, no good….”

Mablung gave up on patience and pulled away from Oromë’s restraining hand. “Fine, whatever, be guilty. Be a martyr, stay in there forever, I don’t care, but tell us! Tell me! _Where is Beleg?”_ He grabbed ahold of the bars, his eyes fixed on Túrin’s listing figure.

“He’s gone.” Túrin laughed again, and sobbed, and raised his stained hands. “He’s not coming back. I didn’t mean to!”

“What does that _mean_?” Mablung hung onto the bars like he could tug them apart if he tried hard enough, his knuckles white.

Oromë whispered, “Not coming – ?”

“Gone,” said Túrin, in the most matter of fact tone they’d yet heard from him. “Like it sounds.” He raised his hand to his throat and drew a shaky line across it as tears rolled down his cheeks, cutting tracks in what they now recognized as dried blood and dirt. 

In the dead silence that followed as Oromë’s hands dropped to his sides and Mablung staggered like he’d been struck, Túrin’s voice rose again in an inhuman, agonized howl. “I didn’t mean to. But I killed him. _I killed him._ ”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Listen, I blame the source material.


	74. Off in the red, dance dance with the dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sky is falling – symbolically for some, literally for others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Posting this just a smidge early as the world's tiniest apology for the three week wait <3 
> 
> 1\. The first section includes descriptions of violence and some bloodiness. The second section includes DIY and Curufin being suspiciously complimentary. Tonal whiplash is my middle name.
> 
> 2\. A/N: I have never read an actual police report.

 Gwindor was painfully aware of how green he was.

His uniform was still uncomfortably starched, his boots squeaked when he walked, and his badge was so embarrassingly shiny it looked like he’d bought it at the dollar store. His brother sometimes joked that he looked like a kid stuffed into a cop costume for Halloween. “Fuck you, Gel,” he’d say, on his way out the door, as Gelmir chortled into his shredded wheat.

“Sorry, officer,” Gelmir would respond with insincere repentance from behind the cereal bowl, and then, apparently unable to resist, “Don’t tase me, bro!”

“That joke is almost ten years old,” Gwindor would yell back over his shoulder.

“And in that uniform, you look almost eleven.”

In addition to the requisite mockery, Gwindor was prepared for a steep learning curve. He was prepared for hard work and long nights and challenges at every turn. He was prepared to face the unexpected and outré; prepared for the nightmare stories of the grisly and grotesque they had absorbed with such eagerness at the Academy. He was beyond ready, he told himself – and then slightly disappointed when the first weeks of policing seemed so utterly mundane. Boring, even. Jaywalking citations and traffic stops and paperwork in disturbing quantities... _Let something_ happen _already._

When something finally did, he realized he was just as stupid as all of Gelmir’s teasing would suggest.

Learning curve, hell – for all his champing at the bit, it transpired that he was wholly unprepared for a wild-eyed and filthy young man bursting into the station at four in the morning and confessing to the murder of his best friend.

But Gwindor would eat his own badge before he would show it. He was going to sit calmly and take this madman’s – _civilian’s_ statement as procedure dictated. Even though the alleged murderer had a thousand-yard stare that make Gwindor’s spine prickle, and even though his hands were still crusted with his victim’s blood – _alleged_ victim’s blood, Gwindor amended diligently. No, Gwindor would take notes with a steady hand that did not waver when the alleged murderer described, in a low and rasping voice, the warm taste of his friend’s blood in his mouth. Instead he would ask, in a voice that did not waver or betray judgment, “And why were you tasting your friend’s blood?”

Red-rimmed grey eyes bored into him, nearly as disconcerting as the stained hands. “It was in his mouth.”

“So your mouth was – ”

“On his.” A rattling inhale came from across the table. “I was trying… I was trying to get him breathing again.” The grey eyes shut briefly. “He wasn’t moving. Not even his tongue. Not even when I – ” The eyes opened again but the voice ground down to almost nothing. “I had to spit it out after.”

“You spat out his…blood.” Gwindor felt a flicker of pride that his poker face held. “Okay. What then?”

“Then I pulled the knife from between his ribs.”

One of Gwindor’s shoulders twitched involuntarily and he tried to turn it into a casual rolling out of his arm.

The boy stared across the table, eyes unfocused. “I shouldn’t have. That’s when it started to whistle.”

“The – ”

“The wound.” The boy’s hands spasmed, and the handcuffs securing his wrists to the table rattled. “Air was rushing out of it, like, like a punctured tire. The knife had been sealing the hole in his lungs, I think, but I thought it might be a good sign, that there _was_ air in his lungs.” The handcuffs rattled once more then stilled. “It wasn’t.”

Gwindor kept his eyes fixed on his notepad, after that.

When Tulkas asked for his report, Gwindor handed it over with a mixture of apprehension and pride, and then beat a hasty retreat. He had no desire to be close to the prisoner again, especially since he had begun to let out a low, throbbing moan that echoed horribly off the walls. As soon as his shift was over he went home, ignoring the curious questions his brother called after him, ignoring the repeated knocks on the bathroom door, and stood in the shower until the hot water ran out, scrubbing at his arms and hands as if they were as filthy as the suspect’s, even though they had barely touched.

He couldn’t get the memory of the horror of Túrin Turambar off his skin.

-

 _ Background _ _: Suspect [originally gave his name as Neithan; later confirmed as Túrin Turambar, file 499] states that since June 2015 he had been engaged with the Gaurwaith gang out of Brethil, the suburb northwest of Doriath. Turambar describes a shift in power taking place in subsequent months: frequent conflicts with the gang’s previous leader, and an increasing division of loyalty within the group. This leader – whom our intelligence on the Gaurwaith confirms as Forweg 'The Wolf' of Brethil, file 485 – was eventually ousted, and Turambar took over nominal control of the group in autumn 2015. However, due to the appearance of an acquaintance of his [Beleg Cúthalion, see file 489] suspicion once again fell upon Turambar’s trustworthiness, and his control over the other members of the Gaurwaith became increasingly tenuous. It seems that a common feeling was that Cúthalion was either a ‘narc’ or an interloper from a Sindarin gang, and Turambar’s trust in him cast doubts on both their loyalties._

_Turambar references numerous incidents where violence against Cúthalion’s person was only averted due to his intervention, and Cúthalion was assaulted at least once in Turambar’s absence. After this, they were rarely out of each other’s company in the interest mutual protection, though Turambar’s fury after the attack on Cúthalion appeared to have had a subduing effect on the others. Later, after an incident in which Cúthalion was able to administer first aid to an injured gang member, he was treated with less open hostility, and it was this that led Turambar to believe that the two of them were in relatively safe standing._

_ Incident _ _: On the day in question, Cúthalion departed on an errand, the nature of which Turambar does not specify. Shortly thereafter, members of a rival gang led a concerted attack on the so-called safe house in which Turambar, Cúthalion, and the other Gaurwaith had been residing. Turambar states that during this attack, other members of the Gaurwraith were suddenly and conspicuously absent, and the ease with which their rivals located the safe house led him to suspect a betrayal. Alone, he was cornered in a room in the house and beaten._

_[Note: At the time of his statement, Turambar refused medical examination and treatment. After the arrival of Turambar’s contacts, Aldaron and Lungumá, and at the urging of the former, the suspect consented to medical examination and it was determined that he had injuries consistent with a beating, including two cracked ribs, a mild concussion, and a badly bruised patella.]_

_Turambar states that he fought back at first but after briefly losing consciousness, ‘curled up and let them at it.’ He further states he is not sure how much time elapsed, but when he woke, he was in a dark house, apparently alone, and handcuffed to a radiator. He either lost consciousness or fell asleep once or twice more following this realization, but when he woke a second time [unable to pinpoint exact time, as his watch was broken and his phone taken], he became aware of another person in the room bending over him with a sharp object. He identified this object as a knife from the way it glinted in the light of a passing car. Turambar then became convinced that one or another gang member had returned to ‘finish the job’ and he determined to ‘go down fighting.’ Seizing his assailant’s arm, he managed to wrench the knife from him and turn it against his presumed attacker. Turambar’s assault was apparently successful, as he reports feeling his ‘hand drenched in something hot’, and heard the other give a gasp or cry. When Turambar managed to sit up and orient himself, he realized that the figure before him was none other than his previously mentioned friend and associate, Beleg Cúthalion, with ‘a knife buried to the hilt under his ribs, and blood everywhere.’_

_[At this point while giving his statement, the suspect became agitated, and began to wrench at his handcuffs, saying ‘Oh god, oh god, so much blood, it was all over him, it was all over me, it wouldn’t stop.’ The officer taking his statement was first concerned he was trying to break free, and then that he was trying to hurt himself, but it became clear Turambar was trying to claw the dried blood off his hands. He was further restrained, but when he was offered the opportunity to clean up after samples and pictures were taken, he refused.]_

_When the suspect was able to continue, he said that he did not know how much time passed, but that he at once seized the victim and attempted mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, not knowing if the victim was breathing or not. After several breaths and a lack of response from the victim, he pulled the knife from the victim, which resulted in what appears to be a sucking chest wound [suspected punctured lung]. He was able to use the murder weapon to pick the handcuffs restraining him – the same task, he posits, that the victim was attempting when Turambar first awoke. He then attempted to administer first aid to the victim again, trying to staunch the bleeding and the wound, and once again applying CPR, though he had to keep stopping to spit out blood from the victim’s mouth._

_It was at this time that his former allies, the Gaurwaith, reappeared. Turambar states that he clutched the body of his victim in a defensive attitude, holding Cúthalion to his chest. Apparently dismayed by the sight of the victim and the amount of blood – including the blood dripping from Turambar’s mouth – the new witnesses to the scene grew agitated, yelling and threatening the suspect, who had the murder weapon in hand and was using it in an attempt to ‘keep them away from Beleg.’ But after hearing repeated shouts of what the suspect recounts as, ‘He killed him! Jesus Christ, the psycho,’ along with less audible discussion along the lines of ‘If he killed his own friend what do you think he will do to us,’ the suspect finally fled, seeing several of the gang members reaching for weapons of their own._

_Despite his consternation at abandoning the body of his friend, Turambar wandered the streets for an indeterminate amount of time, until he saw the lights of a police station [Dorthonion Precinct 216]. This is when he decided to turn himself in and came into the station around 4:03 am, where his statement was taken by Officer Gwindor Guilinion._

_-_

Tulkas sighed and rubbed at his forehead, the file spread out before him. Even though he’d already read it twice now, Oromë took the papers from Tulkas again and flipped though the notes on Túrin’s medical condition, a description of the knife and other evidence in custody, and a note to check all local hospitals and morgues for a possible John Doe.

“He’s not a John Doe,” said Mablung hoarsely, speaking for the first time in an hour. “He’s _Beleg_.”

“We know,” said Oromë quietly, setting down the papers and resting a hand on Mablung’s knee. “But if someone brought him in and he’s not conscious or with any identification on him, he’d probably be listed as a John Doe, it’s just how they’d process it. So in order to look for him, they’re going to be looking for all unidentified… patients.”

Mablung turned his face away and tightened his hands into fists. It had been hours now, but Túrin’s words still seemed to ring in the air around them.

_I killed him. I killed him._

At first, Oromë had thought he would have to physically restrain Mablung from lunging at Túrin, even through the bars of the cell, but Mablung had stayed strangely still in the aftermath of Túrin’s confession. His arms hung loosely at his side, and it wasn’t until Oromë touched his shoulder that he moved, jerking back.

“It’s not true,” he said. “He’s lying.”

“Mablung – ”

“It can’t be true. That can’t be what happened. That is so _stupid_ , that does not get to be how – Beleg doesn’t deserve such – He’s _wrong._ ”

“Until we find the bod- Beleg, we won’t know how much of his story is true or not,” said Tulkas, shifting from where he’d been standing against the wall. “And maybe not even then.”

“Then go find him!” exploded Mablung, and this time he did lunge forward, striking his fist against the bars of the cell. “He never should have gone after you!” he shouted at Túrin. “I told him not to, I told him that you didn’t want to be found, but he didn’t listen, and I stopped trying to talk him out of it because I knew he’d never give up on you – He _loved_ you, you bastard, and god only knows why – ”

It had taken both Oromë and Tulkas to pull him away, and it wasn’t until they were back in Tulkas’ office, and the report was laid in front of him that Mablung finally fell silent again, going almost rigid as he stared at the file. He ignored the low talk around him as Tulkas and Oromë spoke, and Oromë briefly left to convince Túrin to go to the infirmary for an examination and treatment.

“We got him cleaned up, too,” said Oromë when he returned, looking older and wearier with shadows under his eyes.

Mablung said nothing, and Oromë had turned back to the report.

“ ‘The victim’,” Mablung said now. “ ‘The John Doe.’ How the fuck can you stand hearing him talked about like that?”

Tulkas’ phone rang, and he excused himself to take the call. Oromë pulled Mablung into the hallway and walked him back towards the parking lot.

“You don’t have to stand it,” he said, as Mablung buried his hands in his pockets and bowed his head, his hair falling into his eyes. “You don’t have to take it. I know it’s painful to hear him talked about like that – so why stick around here? They’re going to let us know if they learn anything.”

Mablung said something too indistinct to hear.

Oromë bent closer. “What was that?” He straightened up helplessly and ran an exhausted hand over his hair when Mablung didn’t respond. “Do you want to wait at my house? Better than waiting alone, unless you’d prefer that.”

“I should have stopped him,” said Mablung, to his feet. “It doesn’t matter what I said back there, I could have stopped him if I’d tried harder. And if I couldn’t – I should have gone after him sooner. I should have gone after him before it was too late.” He dragged his forearm over his eyes and coughed. “Because it’s too late now, isn’t it, Coach?”

 

* * *

 

Celegorm loped down the hallway past the room that until recently had been Aredhel’s. He glanced into the room absently as he made to turn down the stairs, then backed up and paused in the doorway, his brow furrowed, to examine the scene more carefully.

Curufin was lying on the floor, staring intently at the ceiling.

“Curvo?”

“Shh.”

“Uhh, you do know this isn’t your room, right?” Celegorm leaned against the doorframe. “Are you okay, kid?”

“Yes. Shut up, I’m trying to concentrate.” Curufin raised his arm and held out his thumb and forefinger, closing one eye. “It’s about…four feet in.”

“Jesus.” Celegorm looked at him in some alarm. “What is? Four feet into where?”

“The cord I need to run from the attic beam to the wall where I can drop it down and hook it to the extension I’m running from my room.”

“Oh.” Celegorm rubbed his eyes. “Bro. Dad told you to stop doing home wiring projects.”

“He said no more at the Formenos house. He never said anything about wiring projects _here_.”

“Prob’ly because he assumed you were smart enough not to attempt to electrocute yourself in this 1950s nightmare of a slum.”

“Oh, please. Try _18_ 50s, and it’s not a slum, it’s a Victorian.”

“I saw the dead bats they pulled out of the walls three years ago; dead bats say ‘slum’ to me. And ok, so it’s a century and a half old, you think that makes this a better idea?”

“I think it will mean a far more optimal location for our router.”

“That’s all? Our Wi-Fi is _fine_ , Curvo, it’s _more_ than fine seeing as you talked us into paying for fucking _business_ class, and now you’re talking about running wires through god knows where – ”

“Not god knows where. Though the attic. And our router could be more optimally located, is all.”

“I’m gonna put my foot down.” Celegorm crossed his arms over his chest. “No fuckin’ wall wires.”

“I’ve already cut three holes,” murmured Curufin, still examining the ceiling.

“Of course you have, you little shit of an authority-underminer.”

Curufin sat up. “I’m actually glad you’re here.”

“That’s new.”

“Yes. I needed someone to go up in the attic and drop the wires down where I direct them to.”

“Someday,” said Celegorm, wandering into the hall to get the ladder out of the closet, “I am going to learn how to say no to you, and then you’ll be sorry.”

-

“Okay,” Curufin called from the top of the ladder, only his legs visible in the hall as he poked his head into the stuffy attic crawl space. “You’re going to want to walk about three strides left and then turn and take two strides right. Then you’ll drop the cord I’m feeding you down the gap in the wall you’ll feel there.”

Celegorm’s voice echoed hollowly from the attic. “Your strides, or my strides?”

“Just take normal paces, Tyelko.”

“I’m just saying, your strides are a lot smaller than mine.”

“I am not THAT much shorter than you, and you are mostly torso anyway. I have long legs for my size.”

There was a muffled sound like someone shuffling across a beam, and then Celegorm said, faintly, “Was that two to the left and three to the right, or – ”

“It was the opposite,” said Curufin impatiently, “if you turn too quickly, you’ll step off the beam and then it’s just insulation and plaster and you’ll go right through the – ”

There was an almighty crash.

“Tyelko!”

Curufin raced down the ladder, only just keeping himself from tripping on the lowest rung, and dashed into the spare room. The ceiling had given way, depositing Celegorm onto the floor in a cascade of plaster and fiberglass. Celegorm was lying on the floor in almost the same place Curufin had been earlier.

Curufin dropped to his knees and grabbed Celegorm’s hand. “Tyelko! Are you okay? Talk to me!”

Celegorm blinked thoughtfully at the ceiling. “I think… I think a helmet might have been a good idea.”

Curufin let go of Celegorm’s hand and jabbed him hard in the ribs. “You didn’t listen to where I told you to walk!”

“Maybe some padding, too.”

“Look at the size of that hole!”

“We should have moved the mattress, it would have been a much softer landing.”

“Are you okay or not?”

Celegorm sat up, wincing slightly, and checked his ribs, then his head. “I’m gonna feel it tomorrow, but nothing is broken.”

Curufin breathed out a small sigh of relief, then scowled. “Nothing broken, except the ceiling!”

Celegorm looked at him. “Did I or did I not tell you not to do this?”

“Did I or did I not tell you exactly where to step?”

“This is what happens when you do home improvement. I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

Curufin narrowed his eyes. “If this stunt was engineered for the sole purpose of trying to dissuade me from – ” He broke off, looking anxious, as Celegorm shifted and let out a hiss of pain. “What’s wrong? What hurts?”

“My fucking tailbone, you wang. A bruised coccyx is going to put a serious cramp in my style.”

“Is it broken?”

“Calm down, I’ve taken harder falls.” Celegorm grimaced and heaved himself to his feet, brushing dust from himself.

Curufin scrambled up too. “You should go sit on the bed for a bit, at least.”

“With this bruised ass, it’s gonna be the only mattress action I’ll be getting anytime soon,” grumbled Celegorm, and limped over to the bed, raising an absent hand to his head as he did.

“You hit your head,” said Curufin accusingly. “Of _course_ you did. I’m going to get ice.”

“Don’t bother. Get weed instead,” Celegorm called after him, but Curufin was already down the stairs.

In five minutes, he was back with ice and Advil, which he tossed to Celegorm. Then he sat on the bed next to him and rubbed at his temples, trying to think. Celegorm made to sit up and Curufin planted a hand on his chest and pushed him down again. “Okay, no, you need to stay put, hold still. How do we know if you have a concussion?”

Celegorm shrugged, holding the icepack to his head. “I never lost consciousness and I don’t feel nauseous, so it can’t be _that_ bad. I don’t have a concussion, seriously, my ass took most of the impact.”

“Right,” muttered Curufin. “I am much reassured. Give me your phone, I’m going to call your boyfriend to come over and see what he thinks – surely he’s seen concussions before, probably in you for that matter.”

“Don’t bug Oromë with this shit, he’s been back and forth to the police like four times today waiting to hear if they have anything new.”

Curufin raised an eyebrow. “And spending all day with your nemesis, to boot. How do you feel about that?”

Celegorm shot him a look but answered evenly. “He’s been temporarily downgraded from nemesis to nuisance. And you gotta feel a bit bad for – Whatever. Don’t call Oromë.”

“I just want his opinion. Then we can take you to the doctor if necessary.”

“Aw, peanut, you’re worried about me! That’s adorable.”

“Yes, well, I may be Father’s favorite but he’ll still have something stern to say if he learns I dropped you through a ceiling and caused you damage.”

Celegorm smiled crookedly, glancing at the scar on Curufin’s cheek. “Just tell him we’re even.”

Curufin ignored this, standing up and putting his hands on his hips. “I still need someone with long arms who’s not too broad to retrieve the cables left in the walls.”

“Where are you? Didn’t you hear me yelling from downstairs? I needed someone to unlock the door and I ended up having to go in through the – Why does Tyelko have ice on his head?” Caranthir came into the room, mouth full and a half-eaten apple in one hand. He looked up and his eyes narrowed. “And why is there a hole in the ceiling?”

Curufin's eyes lit up and he smiled brightly. “Goodness, Moryo, have I commended you on how tall and slender you look today?”

Caranthir immediately retreated. “What do you want, Curvo?”

Curufin darted behind him to prevent him from leaving. “Just a small bit of, ah, light contract work. Come on. Please?”

-

The sun had already come out and it was starting to feel unseasonably warm despite the snow on the ground - a fact which made the clean-up slightly easier.

Standing on the front steps, Caranthir yelped and ducked as Curufin lowered the broom. “Are you trying to damage me?”

“I’m trying to get the plaster dust and fiberglass off you,” said Curufin impatiently. “Hold still!”

“You are getting way too intimate with those bristles,” said Caranthir as Curufin brushed energetically at his shirt with the broom.

“Do you _want_ fiberglass under your skin? Turn around.”

“Boy,” said Celegorm, coming out front and leaning against the doorframe to watch as Caranthir coughed plaster dust and Curufin continued to swipe at him with the broom. “The shit I miss out on when I’m lightly concussed… How come you never do that for me?” He winked at Curufin, and Curufin ignored him.

“I think I got the worst of it off you, but you should probably put all your clothes straight into the laundry.”

“You owe me,” said Caranthir, pulling his shirt over his head and walking back inside with his shoulders hunched slightly. He had spent the last hour walking stoop backed around the attic, gingerly dodging the hole Celegorm had made, as Curufin shouted orders from the top of the ladder. “I think I developed both emphysema and claustrophobia all for you to move the damn router.”

“Everyone in this family is such a drama queen,” said Curufin breezily, following him back into the house. “And I’ll buy you a drink of thanks just as soon as I turn 21.”

“We’re going to have to tell Dad about the ceiling,” said Caranthir, pulling a hoodie on over his bare chest and grabbing a beer out of the fridge. He dropped down into a chair, tossing his shirt to the floor beside him, and put his feet up on the kitchen table.

“Says who?” Curufin pushed Caranthir’s feet off the table and went over to the cupboard. “I don’t think this is something worth bothering Father about.” He rummaged around and emerged with a package of chocolate chips, which he took over to the table and began to eat one at a time as Caranthir put his feet back on the table.

“Since when are you in favor of _not_ tattling to Dad?”

“When it’s his fault,” said Celegorm, plucking the beer from Caranthir’s hand and taking a swig.

“Concussion victims shouldn’t drink.”

“Good thing I don’t have a concussion then.”

“How do you propose to fix this without Dad finding out?”

“We’ll fix it ourselves,” said Curufin, after a moment’s thought. “Or find someone who can. However…”

“However?”

“However,” Curufin winced, “I am concerned that I may have seen some mold in the wreckage that came down with Tyelko.”

“Which means?”

“If there’s mold,” said Curufin, still eating chocolate chips contemplatively, “we will need to hire somewhat to get rid of it. Throughout the house, too, as we cannot assume it is restricted to one area, which could be a multi-day to weeklong project. But I imagine Maitimo will let us all sleep on his floor while the work gets done.”

Both Caranthir and Celegorm burst into speech at once.

"I told you this was an idiot idea! I’ve told you a million times that I am _fine_ with blissful ignorance, and instead you gotta termite around in the ceiling – ”

“How much is this going to cost? If you insist on not telling Dad, does that mean _we_ foot the bill? You act like contractors don’t charge an arm and a leg – ”

Curufin was spared by Celegorm’s phone ringing. “You’d better answer that,” he said helpfully, as Celegorm broke off and looked down, distracted.

“It’s Oromë. Probably calling me back to ask why my weirdo little brother left a terse message on his voicemail about how I tend to behave with a concussion, cheers, Curvo.” He shot a glower at Curufin and answered his phone. “Hey, babe, listen, whatever Curvo said, it’s not that bad – What?”

“What?” said Curufin and Caranthir together.

Celegorm turned away, one hand pressed to his other ear as he listened intently. “Sorry, say that again. They found who, where?”

Curufin and Caranthir both leaned forward imperceptibly.

“Holy shit. What’re they saying? …Uh huh. Uh huh. Okay. You want me to come meet you? Where will you be? Okay. Yeah, call me when you’re out, I guess. You too. And hey, is – Uh, how is Mablung doing?” He listened a while longer, ignoring Curufin and Caranthir’s obvious eavesdropping.

“Mablung,” muttered Caranthir to Curufin. “Is that the Doriath kid who – ”

“Used to lead pickets against dad? Get in fistfights with Tyelko? That’s the one.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. Okay, I’ll see you soon.” Celegorm hung up, and let out a long, low whistle. Curufin raised his eyebrows and Celegorm answered his unspoken question. “They found the Cúthalion kid. Someone dumped him at First Drengist.”

“Cúthalion,” said Caranthir. “That's the other one?”

“Yes,” said Curufin. “What kind of shape is he in? Did Oromë say he’s alive?”

“He said ‘For now’,” said Celegorm, and grabbed his coat.


	75. Dare to wake up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unexpected news and unexpected visitors abound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Warnings: Brief below waist hanky-panky occurs.

**_To:_ ** _"Irissë" <ar-feiniel@gmail.com>"_

 **_From:_ ** _"Nolofinwë" <fingolfin@finwecorp.com>_

 **_Subject:_ ** _re: fine time to take a business trip, pops_

_Dear Irissë,_

_It was a treat seeing you this past weekend and getting to check out your new place. You and Elenwë have a lovely spot, and I can’t tell you how happy we are that you’ve found such a wonderful partner and made such a wonderful home together. (Though to be fair, it would be more accurate to say your brother found her…) (ha-ha) (Your mother says that people use emoticons to make it clear something was a joke, but I can’t find the ‘emoticon’ button on my new ipad. You’ll have to show me where it is the next time you come by. Take my word for it that that was a joke! We’re really glad things aren’t awkward between you and Turukáno anymore.)_

_I was glad to be able to respond in person to your sweet and heartfelt email, but I’m not going to pass up on the chance to continue a correspondence with my favorite daughter! Maybe we can be pen-pals, if that’s still a thing. E-pals? It might make sense, especially seeing as I might be on the road a lot soon, and I know you don’t like phone calls._

_I hope when we talked I made clear how entirely I support you and your work on sobriety and mental health, and anything I can help with, please let me know. I’m really proud of you. By the way, however much you self-deprecate, I’ve never thought of you as a ‘mess.’  The state of your room when you were child notwithstanding, you’ve always been far less of a mess than you give yourself credit for. And as messy as it gets, I’m here for you. I know the same is true of your mom and brothers._

_Speaking of your brothers: I know it’s been many years since we had to send you and Turno to track down a wayward Findekáno in the dorms, but I’m starting to think we might have to enlist your services once again – this time to locate Arko. He hasn’t responded to any of our texts or calls or emails trying to coordinate Passover this year. His silence WOULD be cause for concern but we know he’s alive since he’s merrily posting on Facebook every day. Apparently. He won’t accept my friend request so I can’t actually see his page, but Lalwen said he uploaded pictures on Tuesday, and when Findekáno was over the other night he showed us a ‘vine’ (just a short video, apparently? I don’t know why it needs a special name) that Arakáno shared from a fraternity event. It’s amazing how many kegstands can fit into 6 seconds. Modern technology, eh? Anyway. It's like the incident with the blizzard when he was 16 all over again, except this time he's not unreachable because he's driven mom's car into a snowbank, he's just being a Terrible Son. If he doesn’t respond to my latest text by tomorrow, I’m going to ask you to hunt him down and glue his fingers to his phone until he gets back to me._

_Ha-ha._

_Give my best to Elenwë, and if you manage to retrieve my glasses from that small dark terror you assure me was a cat, I’d much appreciate it! Until then, I am making do with a spare pair and a lot of squinting._

_Take care of yourself and stay in touch._

_Love,_

_Dad_

_PS Keep the news I told you under your hat until the end of the week! Trying to keep it from getting ‘leaked’ ;)_

_PPS Mom showed me how to make emoticons without a button._

 

* * *

 

“Mae! Are you home?” There was a clatter in the entryway as Fingon came in, and Maedhros extricated himself from the closet where he’d been rummaging around.

“I’m in the office, but I’m about to turn around and leave again,” he called, tripping over a pile of old wrapping paper and a defunct clock radio. “I could have sworn we had the supplies on hand for this project I’m planning with my students, but all but four of the colored pencils are gone. Seriously, has someone been eating them? Where do they _go_? Anyway, if the car has gas in the tank I’ll probably just take it and run downtown.” He broke off as he came into the hallway and saw Fingon in the living room. Fingon was beaming as he unwound the blue and white scarf from around his neck and kicked off his shoes.

Maedhros eyed him curiously. “You look happy. Good day at work?”

“I have news.”

Maedhros raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Can it wait until I get back from Staples?”

“Nope.”

Fingon was practically vibrating with contained excitement, and Maedhros put down the half empty box of colored pencils he’d been holding. He pulled Fingon down to sit on the couch and they faced each other, Maedhros folding his legs up in front of him while Fingon leaned forward eagerly on his knees.

“What do you want to tell me?”

“My dad’s going to making a big announcement at the end of this week,” said Fingon, in a rush.

“Oh no, who’s – ” Maedhros started to ask, and then hesitated. “Wow, why was my first instinct that someone was pregnant?”

“Right, that’s the only thing a big announcement could be. That my _dad_ would be announcing, no less.”

“Sorry, I was being stupid. So what is – ”

“If it will put your mind at ease, I can tell you it’s highly unlikely that I’m pregnant, Mae.”

“Obviously, I just – ”

“To start with, I’ve been on top a lot lately. And I don’t think either of us is ovulating.”

“ _Stop_. Tell me what your father’s going to announce!”

“He’s going to run for office,” said Fingon, and his eyes were shining with excitement. “He’s going into state politics.”

“What?” Maedhros gaped. “Oh my god, really? That’s incredible.”

“I know! I always said he’d be good at this.”

Memories of how Fëanor had spoken of running office back before the scandal, back before he lost the company, crossed Maedhros’ mind in a brief, bitter moment. Then he shoved them aside. “Of course he will be. Nolofinwë is a born leader, and he can really make a difference in the statehouse. The unions like him too, and that's big. But what does that mean for the company? Is he not going to be president anymore?”

“He’ll still be president.” Fingon shrugged. “But he’ll be cutting way back during the campaign of course, and if he gets elected, then he'll probably take a leave of absence or something. In the meantime, he’ll still be on the board and so on, but his active role will be way down. It happens all the time with businessmen going into politics and minimizing their company work.”

“So who’s going to close the gap and fill in where he left off?” Maedhros looked at Fingon in dawning realization. “Finno…are you taking over the company?”

“What?” Fingon burst out laughing. “ _Hell_ no. Findis is going to take over as chief executive, she already more than half runs the place. Me? That’s a laugh, buddy, good one.”

“But – ” A voice, very much like Curufin’s, echoed in Maedhros’ mind: _How could you throw away that kind of opportunity?_ Horrified at his hypocrisy, Maedhros clamped his lips shut.

“But you’re right on one thing,” said Fingon, either not noticing or choosing to ignore his abruptness. “You’re right that I’m going to be transitioning to a new position.”

“You are?”

“Dramatically." Fingon's eyes were fixed on Maedhros, watching him closely. "I handed in my two weeks notice today. I’m quitting Finwë Corp.”

“What?” Maedhros stared at him, convinced he'd misheard.  _I thought you would never quit, no matter how much you hated it. I’m the quitter, not you._ "You're doing what?"

“I’m quitting Finwë Corp,” Fingon repeated. “No more Vice President in charge of soothing chapped asses, or whatever my damn title is these days. I’m going into another kind of family business.”

Maedhros smiled, despite his shock. “ ‘Family business’ sounds ominous. Are you about to link up to some organized crime?”

“Close. I’m going to be running my father’s campaign.” Fingon sat back, the joy and excitement lighting his face mixing in equal parts with apprehension as he waited for Maedhros' reaction.

“Oh my god.  Findekáno – ” Maedhros couldn’t figure out what to say, so he just grabbed Fingon’s hand and held it tightly. “I can’t believe this.”

Fingon looked sideways at him. “Good disbelief, or bad?”

“Good,” said Maedhros emphatically. “How do you feel? Are you ready for this?”

Fingon shrugged. “Honestly? More ready than I was for corporate life. I did that grassroots organizing in college, and I had that internship the summer after I graduated, and this is what I wanted to do before y- Well, before everything changed and I went into Grandfather's business instead. But _now_ – I’m going to run a campaign, Maitimo! I’m going to be out in the field, I’m going to be taking action, and I’m going to have a chance to make a difference. I’ve always wanted to be there for my dad, and I want to be his right hand as much as I can be, but finally I can do it in pursuit of something I care about! Something I’m good at! I can get out there and _fight_.”

Maedhros broke into a true smile. “Congratulations.” He pulled Fingon forward into his lap, and Fingon went into his arms eagerly. “I’m so proud of you, Finno.”

“Does this mean we have your vote?” Fingon asked teasingly, when they broke apart.

"Hum." Maedhros paused in the middle of nuzzling at Fingon’s neck. “I don’t know, what’s your father’s position on standardized testing? Is he a proponent of the MCAS? Because I have to say – ”

“Oh my god, you stereotype. I’ll get you an answer on that from the press office,” said Fingon. “ _Later_.” He was already beginning to unbuckle Maedhros’ belt, and Maedhros chuckled as Fingon pushed him back against the arm of the couch.

“I can’t wait for you to be politically powerful,” he murmured, slipping his hands below Fingon’s waistband. “Then I can discover how corruptible you are.”

“I’m incorruptible, baby,” said Fingon, undoing Maedhros’ pants with purpose. “I’ve already got everything I could ask for, what are you gonna tempt me with?”

“I’m sure I can think of something,” said Maedhros, pressing his palm against the bulge between Fingon’s legs. Fingon stopped talking after that, his attention taken as he gasped into Maedhros’ shoulder, and Maedhros kept on in a low voice, to see how far he could get him.

“It’s time for me to get you back for all that attempted teacher role play,” he murmured, wrapping his hands around Fingon’s hips and pulling him close. “How would you like it if I snuck into the campaign offices and got on my knees under your desk? Do you think you’d be able to keep your composure, issuing field orders to your staff as I kneel out of sight and – ”

“ _Maitimo._ ”

“Findekáno,” Maedhros whispered into Fingon’s ear, and Fingon moaned, shuddering as Maedhros’ hands tightened on his ass and he pressed forward, rubbing himself against Maedhros’ stomach.

“You bastard. I’m already getting close…”

“Good,” said Maedhros, and then laughed softly as Fingon began to thrust against him. “Would now be a bad time to make a political scandal joke about stains on clothing?”

“Oh shut up, just push your shirt up – Oh, _yeah_ , Mae, like that.” Fingon buried his face in Maedhros’ neck and shook all over, his fingers tight in Maedhros’ shirt, dragging it up to get at bare skin. “Oh god oh god oh god.”

Maedhros groaned, his head dropping back against the arm of the couch as Fingon panted against him, shuddering. “Jesus, you look so hot when you c– ”

The door burst open, and four people came in, all talking at once.

Maedhros lurched upright, hastily pulling his shirt down over his bare stomach.

Fingon, still on top of him, swore loudly. He sat back on his heels, breathing heavily, and swiftly tucked himself back into his pants. “What the _bleeding_ fuck – ”

“I hope it’s not bleeding,” said Curufin, marching in and dropping a bag on the counter. “That’s generally a sign you’re doing something wrong.”

Maedhros scrambled up as he swiftly buttoned his own pants, and Fingon dropped back on the couch, covering his face with his hands and groaning. “This has to be some sort of sick fever dream. Are you kidding me with this timing?”

“No dream, I’m afraid. But nice wet spot, Mae,” said Celegorm, grinning as he looked pointedly at the front of Maedhros’ shirt. “Your own work, or Findekáno’s?”

Maedhros’ ears turned red. “Excuse me,” he growled, and strode out of the room, trying to angle himself away from his brothers.

Fingon adjusted himself covertly before standing up, arms folded. “What the hell are you all doing here? Were you raised in a barn or didn’t anyone ever teach you it’s general courtesy to knock?”

“I have a key,” said Maglor, who was bringing up the rear with his arms laden with another bag and several pillows. He waved it apologetically. “Sorry! I didn’t think that you’d both even be home.”

“Answer the first part of my question, Makalaurë.”

“Curvo broke the house,” said Caranthir, dropping his bags onto the floor as well and wandering over to the fridge. Fingon looked askance at the bags and started drumming his fingers on his arm.

“Tyelko broke the ceiling,” Curufin corrected, perching himself on a stool and examining a bowl of fruit on the counter critically.

“He broke the ceiling on your orders.”

“He doesn’t give me _orders_ ,” protested Celegorm, throwing himself down on the couch and making a face as he pulled Maedhros’ belt out from under him. “Stop making it sound like he’s my commanding officer or something.”

“If the shoe fits…”

Curufin smirked and picked the price sticker off an apple. “I only ordered – sorry, _asked_ – that he go into the attic, not that he break it, but sometimes life throws us uncontrollables, and Tyelko is the most effective uncontrollable I’ve ever met. Anyway, the ceiling was an accident, but you should all be thanking me for sparing you from living in a house with mold in the walls. Have you looked up what mold toxicity exposure looks like? You’re welcome for me making the discovery before we all came down with chronic respiratory issues, and you’re welcome for hiring the contractor to get rid of it.”

Caranthir snorted violently from the vicinity of the fridge. “We should _thank_ you? I should slap you in the face with my bank statement, you vulture. If you’d just let us tell dad, he would be footing the bill instead of us.”

Curufin started to peel the skin off the apple. “There was no need for him to know.”

Caranthir kicked at the molding under the cabinets. “It’s just classic that after years of hearing how perfect our baby brother is, whenever flawless Atarinkë actually makes a mistake we have to take it on ourselves to hide it from – ”

“Yo, least favorite cousins,” said Fingon loudly, and they all looked over at him in mild surprise. “You may have all forgotten my existence, but I have not forgotten yours. Why did you think it was okay to come invade our house without asking first?”

“Curvo was going to send you a text,” said Caranthir and Celegorm together, while Maglor dropped his armful of pillows and pretended to examine a framed poster on the wall.

“That’s funny.” Fingon glowered at Curufin. “Because I received no such text.”

Curufin gazed at the ceiling, rolling a bit of apple skin between his fingers. “Ah, yes. I forgot I don’t have Findekáno’s phone number.”

“Surely you have Maitimo’s.”

“I am afraid not.” Curufin blinked at their incredulous stares. “What, it’s a new phone, I only have the essentials.”

Celegorm shook his head as he stretched out on the couch. “Kid, you got that thing like a year ago.”

“My point stands. Anyway, I sent Nelyo an email.”

“I just got it.” Maedhros had come back in wearing a different shirt and holding his phone.

“You don’t always keep your phone close to hand?” Curufin shook his hand sadly. “Always worth doing, even while humping your – I mean, ‘making love.’”

Maedhros scowled. “You sent me this maybe thirty minutes ago. You didn’t want to ask permission – sorry, ‘inform me’, seeing as you never actually asked if it was okay – a little more in advance of your arrival?”

Curufin shrugged. “I figured it would be harder to say no in person. We’re homeless, Nelyo, are you really going to throw your little brothers out into the street while toxic mold is being removed your former home?”

Fingon and Maedhros exchanged hopeless looks.

“Exactly.” Curufin nodded briskly, and set down the denuded apple. “I knew you would understand, Maitimo, your perspicacity has always been terribly underestimated. Now that that’s taken care of, I think I shall lay claim to the spare bedroom.”

“No, you won’t,” said three voices at once.

“Like hell you get the one bed.”

“If anyone deserves the floor, it’s you.”

“You’re the smallest, you would be fine curled up on a pillow in the corner.”

“Makalaurë gets the spare bedroom,” said Maedhros, and was greeted with an equally loud chorus of protests. “Because he is the only one who’s looked even mildly repentant this whole time.”

“Just because he pretended not to notice you had your boyfriend’s jizz on your chest,” Celegorm said, “doesn’t mean it’s acceptable to play favorites.”

Fingon turned to Maedhros. “I’ve just decided we’re never having children.”

“Be fair,” said Caranthir, sitting on the couch next to Celegorm. “It coulda been his own jizz.”

“Not judging by the size of the boner he was concealing. Fin, you want us to give you a moment to finish off Mae?”

“May the toxic mold take you all,” said Fingon, as Maedhros buried his face in his hands. “How long did you say you’ll be here?”

* * *

Maedhros knocked lightly on the door to the spare bedroom, and slipped inside after Maglor’s quiet “Yeah?”

Maedhros was surprised to see Fingon sitting beside Maglor on the floor with his guitar in his lap. Maglor was stretched out next to him, scribbling something in a notebook, and both of them looked up as Maedhros came in.

“I thought you’d fled,” Maedhros said to Fingon, as Fingon played a chord progression and hummed. “I was half expecting you to seek refuge with Turno tonight.”

“It’ll take more than a bushel of Fëanorions to chase me from my home,” said Fingon, and plucked the D string for emphasis. “Did you get the supplies you needed?”

Maedhros held up the bag of pencils and notebooks in one hand, and then sat down on the floor with them.

“A-minor is overused,” Maglor murmured, resting his chin on his fist. “Would you judge me if I scrapped the bridge entirely and started over?”

“I’d judge you terribly. No, do it. You’ll be unbearable if you don’t.”

Maglor jotted something down and Fingon bent over his shoulder, studying the notes and then picking them out on the guitar.

“Are the others all set up?” Maglor asked, finally looking up at Maedhros. “Finno was going to set up the air mattress for them, but I told him after we were so rude they could set up their own bedding.”

“I forgive you,” said Fingon, stretching out his legs. "Only you, mind."

“They’re all in their pajamas,” said Maedhros, and a broad smile broke over his face. “I honestly think they’re playing truth or dare.”

“Oh my god, such slumber party shenanigans. Are they braiding each other’s hair and gossiping, too?”

“As far as I can tell, Curvo is just boycotting all dares and objecting to the concept of truth on principle.”

Maglor scrambled to his feet. “Let’s go watch.”

* * *

 “What? I don’t believe in it.” Curufin held up a blanket defensively as Celegorm tossed a handful of popcorn at him.

“Prat. Truth-hater.”

“Stop being such a weirdo and play the game!”

“I can’t play a game wherein a key premise is essentially flawed!” Curufin drew his knees up under the blanket and folded his arms over them. “There is no such thing as ‘truth’, it is inherently subjective.”

Caranthir smirked. “For someone who supposedly hates philosophy…”

“Shut up.”

“I think Findaráto is rubbing off on you.”

“If you comment on that,” said Curufin warningly, as Celegorm started to open his mouth, “I will destroy you.”

“I’m quaking in my slippers, man. Truth or dare?”

“ _Fine_. Truth, I pick truth." Curufin curled his lip challengingly. "You want truth? I’ll give you truth. Bring it on.”

"Hold on, lemme think of a good one to ask." Celegorm ruminated, whispered briefly with Caranthir, and then winked. "Try this on for size."

Curufin listened, unflustered, as Celegorm laid out the question, and then nodded. "Right."

Twenty minutes later, Celegorm and Caranthir were sitting on the floor, their mouths hanging open, while Fingon, Maedhros, and Maglor watched rapt from the hallway.

Curufin finished his sentence, cleared his throat, and smiled pleasantly at all of them. “And there you have your ‘truth’.”

“No,” said Caranthir blankly.

“I cannot unhear that,” said Maglor, burying his face in his hands.

Fingon, who had been listening to increasingly shocking revelations with a look of intense interest, raised his hand. “Query: What did you do after the leg broke?”

“It was about then that the janitor returned, so,” Curufin shrugged. “It wasn’t _my_ problem anymore.”

“Jesus, Curvo,” muttered Maedhros.

Celegorm closed his mouth, still staring in shock at Curufin. Then a suspicious look crossed his face. “So…”

“Yes?”

"Upside-down, huh?"

"Oh, yes."

"And a stolen floor buffer?"

"Borrowed."

“Pretty intimate stuff to let us in on."

"I am simply obeying the rules of the game."

"Yeah, right. After years of never opening up about anything, you decide to let us in on your darkest secrets now? Just because we threw a ‘truth’ at you? Uh uh. You never let anyone in on anything without good reason.”

Curufin yawned and covered his mouth with one hand.

“Either something big has shifted, or,” Celegorm laughed suddenly. “Or you are trolling the _fuck_ out of us.”

Curufin’s eyes widened and he pulled back, looking shocked and hurt. “You think the only possible explanation for me confiding in those I hold dear has to be that I am _messing_ with you? I’ve been working really hard on being okay with vulnerability, Tyelko, you know it’s not easy for me to – ” Curufin’s hold on wide-eyed injury slipped, his lips twitched, and he broke off, grinning. “Twenty minutes! I was only aiming to have you believe me for ten.”

Caranthir swore and fell back on the air mattress, while Maedhros gave an exhale of relief from the hallway.

Curufin was still chuckling as he examined his nails with a pleased air. “I can’t believe I got you to buy the thing about the wig and the werewolf mask.”

“In our defense,” said Fingon. “That _totally_ sounds like something Findaráto would be into.”

 

* * *

 

Mablung was nodding off at Beleg’s bedside when the door to the hospital room opened, revealing the last two people Mablung expected. His head jerked up in shock as an unusually tall man with silver hair and a long, patrician face walked through the door. Behind him was an even taller woman with ink-black hair streaked with a single strand of white.

“Hello,” said Thingol, noticing him. “We are here to check on Mr. Cúthalion’s condition.”

“He’s alive,” said Mablung, too exhausted and confused to figure out how best to be courteous to the President and Dean of Beleriand University. “He’s going to stay alive, they think.”

“I heard he had lost a lot of blood,” said Thingol, looking down at Beleg from behind elegant half-lens glasses.

“Yes, that happens when you get stabbed in the lung.” 

Thingol looked at him, a penetrating stare from behind his glasses and that long, elegant nose, and Mablung reddened. “We are here,” said Thingol, after a pregnant pause, “with Mr. Turambar.”

Mablung looked over Thingol’s shoulder, half expecting to see Túrin ghosting through the door, but it remained closed. He looked back at Thingol, waiting.

Thingol removed his glasses and polished them on a handkerchief. “This is a stopover for us; we have arranged for his bail, and are taking him home.”

“Mîm’s his home.” Mablung hadn’t meant for the words to come out so loudly, and the conviction with which he spoke them surprised him.

“We think it better that he be out of that neighborhood. Mîm understands this.” Thingol slid his glasses into a pocket. “Túrin will too, I am sure. But in the meantime he has not stopped asking that he be able to see Beleg – he is quite forceful in his insistence. I did not think the visit was advisable, but it has not been disallowed.”

“He has only been awake a couple times,” said Mablung, fighting the urge to place himself protectively between Beleg and his visitors. “He’s still really weak, and he's in rough shape. Those thugs that dumped him in the ER parking lot may have saved his life, but they weren't gentle with him, and he's still pretty fucked up - uh, battered,” he amended in a mutter, feeling embarrassed to swear in front of Melian, no matter his exhaustion. 

“We understand,” said Melian, her voice almost as deep as her husband’s, but so melodic and pure in tone that Mablung felt goose bumps prickle over his skin. “And we know you are as close to family as Beleg can call anyone, so we will defer to your judgment.” She raised a hand as her husband made a movement at her elbow as if he was going to protest. “But Túrin will not be able to spend much time here as we get various things sorted out with our lawyers, so this may be his only chance for a while to see his friend.”

 _His victim,_ thought Mablung, though he could almost see Beleg’s reproving look.

Melian looked like she guessed what he was thinking. “Túrin has not slept nor eaten since Beleg woke up. While I do not wish to pressure you unduly to do something you disagree with, I truly believe he will do harm to himself if he cannot see his friend.” She paused. “We can remain in here – we can even ask for security to join us – if you do not feel comfortable leaving him alone with Beleg.”

“No,” said Mablung, and Melian tilted her magnificent head.

“You do not wish to allow it?”

“No, I mean,” Mablung took a breath. “You don’t have to stand guard or anything, and you don’t have to call security. But I’m sure as hell not going to leave. I’ll keep an eye on him. Will you – will you just give me a moment before you send Túrin in?”

“Of course,” said Melian, and she turned gracefully to the door. “Thank you.”

Thingol followed her, casting one last glance over his shoulder to the bed, where Beleg’s pale figure lay.

Mablung crouched by the bed and took Beleg’s hand – reassuringly warm – in his own. “Túrin’s coming,” he said quietly. “I didn’t want to say yes, but I know it’s what you’d want. I could be wrong, but as far as I know, that knife didn’t stop you from being Beleg, and the Beleg I know would want to see Túrin no matter what, even if the last time you two saw each other…” Mablung trailed off and tried to stop the hot flow of fear and anger. “Don’t worry,” he whispered, when he could speak again. “I won’t let him hurt you again.”

When Túrin came in he was alone, gaunt and hollow-eyed and ancient-looking. Mablung tried not to recoil from him but didn't say anything, instead jerking his head towards the bed. Then he retreated and laid his back against the wall, fighting the urge to snap, "Don't try anything."

Túrin didn't even look at him. He moved like an automaton across the room, stumbling on legs that seemed only barely able to support him. When he reached the bed, a great tremor took his body as he looked down at Beleg’s form under the blankets, at the IV running its thin lines to the back of his hand. A sound came from him, something that might have been an attempt to articulate a word, or simply a sob. Túrin's throat worked convulsively, like he was trying to speak, or maybe, Mablung thought, like he was going to be sick. Then Túrin sank down beside the bed, his head bowed over the sheets, his hand resting next to Beleg’s on the coverlet as if he didn’t quite dare to touch him.

Mablung shifted, but made himself stay against the wall, waiting as Túrin stayed hunched at Beleg’s side, and Beleg’s slow, even breaths raised the sheet draped over his chest. There would be something almost peaceful about the atmosphere - the total silence but for Beleg's breathing and the steady beeping of machines - had it not been for the misery that spread from Túrin like a great shadow. 

At long last, Túrin stirred - his knees on the linoleum must have been getting sore - and as he did, Beleg moved as well. Beleg’s eyes opened, right as Túrin raised his head to gaze into his face.

Their eyes met.

As Beleg focused on Túrin, his dry, cracked lips broke into a smile. “Túrin,” he whispered, in a voice like sandpaper.

Mablung pressed his palms flat against the wall behind him.

“Beleg,” croaked Túrin, still kneeling like a supplicant. He spoke like someone who hadn't used his voice in years, and his lips formed the name with a wretched reverence. 

Beleg flexed his fingers and turned his palm upright on the blankets, never taking his eyes from Túrin's face. “I am glad you’re here.”

Then Túrin did take Beleg’s hand, holding it caught between his own as he bent his head and kissed the knuckles, one finger at a time, and Mablung turned his head away from Túrin’s tears.


	76. You won't get better ‘til you're worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fëanorions 4 and 5 return to Formenos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Warnings: The second scene contains discussion of weight loss and the physical/psychological after-effects of injury.

The quiet, tree-lined street was elegant even with its branches still winter-bare and the remaining piles of dirty snow pushed up against the muddy curb. The car took the last long curve and came into view of the house at the end of the lane with the curled and sleepy-eyed dragon statue by the mailbox.

Caranthir downshifted, slowing down as they approached the driveway. “So what are you going to say when you see him?”

Curufin raised his sunglasses so he could give his brother a withering look. “My god, tell me you are not coaching me right now.”

Caranthir ignored the look. “You are going to be contrite and respectful and take full responsibility – ”

“Because if you were coaching me, you realize I’d have to murder you.”

“ – and say, ‘I tried to keep it off your plate for as long as I could, but the contractor is over budget.’ And then you’ll say ‘And my brothers, who never signed up for this, are flat broke, and have gone on strike until I ask for financial assistance.’ Full financial assistance, mind you, not just pitching in a bit; we need him to cover the rest of the work, bottom line. You can apologize all you want, but _full financial assistance_ , that's key. Got all the details down?” Caranthir parked the car and turned off the ignition. “And you can’t murder me, Mom banned murder after Thanksgiving ‘08.”

Curufin sighed and looked out the window. “I’ve been trying to appeal that ruling since New Year’s ‘09.” He opened the car door and got out, and Caranthir did the same. “Now shut up already, if you try and prompt me on how to talk to Father one more time I will be forced to choke on the irony.”

They walked up the lane to the house, Caranthir pausing to run his hand companionably over the stone head of the dragon, and Curufin checked his watch. “No more than two hours here, and then you’ll be able drop me at campus, yes?”

“Sure. It’s not like Formenos is that much farther a drive to campus than it is from Fingon’s place.”

“Fact. Staying at Hithlum Ave is so massively inconvenient.” Curufin curled his lip. “Having to _drive_ – ”

“Be driven,” corrected Caranthir. “Seeing as no one trusts you behind the wheel.”

“ – drive to school, or else take the bus, where I always end up seated beside the next Typhoid Mary or some leering trench coat masturbator…”

“Why don’t you just stay at Finrod’s?” Caranthir swung his keys. “He’s walking distance to campus.”

They were at the front stoop now, and Curufin glanced at the house as if he suspected they were being watched from the windows. “I didn’t want to impose.”

“Yeah, ‘cos Finrod, the most hospitable weirdo in the country, is the type who’d take that as an imposition.”

“He sleeps on a _futon_.”

“You’re currently sleeping on a pile of blankets in the corner of Maitimo’s living room.”

Curufin crossed his arms. “Just because it’s that or share the air mattress with you. He has roommates, all right? I don’t want to get up every day with a destroyed back from that lumpy horror he sleeps on and then putter around in someone else’s kitchen while his housemates give me knowing looks, have to put myself together in someone else’s home, and it’s not like he has a private bathroom – ”

“You’ve shared a bathroom with four other people for the past two years; no, scratch that, your entire life. You have six brothers, you’ve _never_ had a private bathroom.”

“At least I’m used to the brothers,” said Curufin, and cleared his throat. He lifted his chin as Caranthir raised his eyebrows. “Don’t read too much into it, it doesn't mean I _like_ you.”

“Whatever you say.” Caranthir grinned and knocked loudly on the door.

 

* * *

 

“Ambarto…”

“Get off my back, mom.”

“We need to talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Amras stalked into his room, and Nerdanel followed before he could slam the door behind him.

“We can make it small goals, all right? Let’s aim for five pounds to start, and then – ”

“I’m not _hungry_ , that’s literally all there is to this conversation.” Amras rolled his eyes and retreated to the far corner of the room, throwing himself down in a chair. “Stop trying to make it a bigger deal than that.”

“I understand that you’re not hungry,” said Nerdanel, starting to follow him across the room but then restraining herself. “I know the meds have done a number on you. But chick – ”

“Don’t call me that.”

“ – you’re still growing, and eating too little could have an impact on your growth. It can have an impact on your health and recovery too, and that’s why we’re just talking about getting you to the weight you were before the accident, so you can have the best reserves possible to help you heal.”

Amras dug his fingernail into the windowsill, busily pulling up splinters. “And get back to normal, huh?”

“At least get you to as happy and healthy as you should be.” Nerdanel pressed her fingers together like she was trying to mold the air in the room into something she could grasp. “You can define normal for yourself.”

Amras snorted. “I could weigh as much as a truck, Ma, it’s not gonna get me ‘normal.’” He flicked a splinter across the room and gestured spitefully to his eye. “Even if I ‘define normal’ however I want, no one else thinks a sixteen year old with a fucking eye patch is normal, and they’re not gonna think it’s normal when I’ve still got it on in five years, or ten, or twenty – maybe I’ll add a parrot and a peg leg at that point, really complete the look.”

“They said you don’t have to wear the patch much longer,” said Amrod, who had come in behind Nerdanel.  “It’s really just to protect it while it heals after the last surgery, isn’t it? Then you can take it off, and no one will even notice.”

“Just like no one notices the scars?” Amras laughed.  “That’s a good one. No one will notice I’m blind in one eye, right, because they’ll all just avoid looking at me altogether like they do now.”

Amrod took a step closer, but Amras when drew away from him he stopped. “I thought they said there’s a good chance no one will be able to tell the difference between the eyes.”

“And what if they have to take it out altogether at some point? We don’t know what it’ll look like after it heals from surgery, we don’t know if this was the last surgery, it could be anything next. You weren’t there when they were talking about my fucking _prosthetic_ options, you’re not the one who might have a damn marble shoved in his eye socket at some point, so shut _up_ , Telvo.”

Amrod fell abruptly silent, and Nerdanel squeezed his shoulder. “Pityo, we can keep talking about the options for your eye so we have the best sense of what to expect. I promise we’ll do everything we can to make sure you’re comfortable with what happens, and you’ll have the final say in any big medical decisions. But everything will be easier if we can get you up ten pounds – just five pounds for now, sweetheart, and – ”

“I’m _not hungry_.”

“I’ll get him to eat,” said Amrod, as Nerdanel lifted her hands helplessly. “I’ll help.”

“Fuck off, Telvo,” snarled Amras. “No one asked you.”

Fëanor came through the door and paused, taking in the expression on Nerdanel’s face and Amrod, whose eyes were very bright in his suddenly pale face. Amras glanced up perfunctorily at his father, sneered, and then looked out the window again.

“Moryo and Curvo just arrived,” said Fëanor slowly.

“Moryo’s here?” Amras stood up. “Good.” He brushed past his parents, not looking at his twin at all, and vanished down the hall.

Amrod stared at the ground.

“He doesn’t mean it, Telvo,” said Nerdanel softly, and Fëanor looked at them both.

“What happened?”

Amrod didn’t answer, but pulled free of Nerdanel’s comforting hand and followed his brother into the hall.

“I should go see Curvo, he wanted to talk,” said Fëanor, but he didn’t leave as Nerdanel sank down on the bottom bunk of the twins’ beds and put her face in her hands. “Nerdanel.” He knelt down beside her and rested his hand on her knee. “Was it the same argument again? We’ll get him through this.”

“What am I doing wrong?” said Nerdanel, her voice muffled. “Why can’t I keep my child from wasting away before our eyes?”

“He’s not going to waste away. He’s not going anywhere.” Fëanor’s voice was resonant with conviction. “We’ll get him all the help he needs. I'll do everything in my power, I promise. If it means I have to donate a wing to the hospital, if it means going through every doctor on the East Coast or shipping them in from abroad; we are  _not_ going to be beaten."

Nerdanel shook her head, the slump of her shoulders betraying her exhaustion. "Fëanáro."

"You’re not doing anything wrong, love.” Fëanor's voice softened on the last word, and Nerdanel’s hands dropped away from her face. She sought Fëanor’s hand on her leg and clutched at it, and Fëanor reached up to put an arm around her waist and pull her off the bed and against his chest. They sat together on the floor, Nerdanel’s head on Fëanor’s shoulder, their legs splayed out before them, and this time, Fëanor didn't say anything more.   

Shadows shifted on the old carpet. On the desk in Amrod’s corner of the room, there was a faint shifting from the terrarium as the elderly snake within it stirred and began to poke his nose through his cardboard tube in an investigatory way. A faint breeze came through the window that was half cracked over Amras’ desk, lifting the edges of the stacks of paper sent from school. Still sitting on the floor, leaning against Fëanor’s side, Nerdanel sniffed and picked up a shoe that was poking out from under the bed.

“They need new climbing shoes,” she said thickly. “Look, these are almost worn through.”

Fëanor ran a hand against her hair, his eyes intent on the way the red-grey strands caught the light. “We’ll get them new gear. Maybe it will encourage Pityo to go back to the climbing gym.”

“Maybe.” Nerdanel laid the shoe down and brushed at her cheeks. “But maybe he was right; there’s no going back to normal.”

“Back to normal?” Fëanor's teeth glinted in a fierce but fond smile. “My dear, when have we ever managed that?”

 

* * *

 

Caranthir and Curufin looked up when Amras came down the stairs. He was wearing a dark tee shirt that hung loose on his frame, and the eye that wasn’t covered by a patch was narrowed in anger. But his face brightened as he saw them, and he came into the kitchen.

“Curvo’s gotta talk to dad but I can hang out for a couple hours,” said Caranthir in lieu of hello, as Amras came over and bumped his shoulder in greeting. “Anything cool going on here?”

“Literally never. What are you going to talk to dad about?” Amras addressed Curufin.

“He’s gonna confess his sins,” said Caranthir. “Or at least he better.”

Curufin rolled his eyes. “I am going to have a logistical discussion about house issues.”

“Like I said,” said Caranthir. “His sins.”

Amrod trailed down the stairs and joined them, but Amras didn’t look at him.

“Hey, Curvo,” said Amrod softly.

“Hello, Telufinwë. How’d the test go?”

“Better than I thought.” Amrod lifted the corner of his mouth in a wan smile. “Those practice tests you sent were really helpful.”

“You did better with them than Maitimo did. Congratulations, you’re probably set to teach middle school math now.”

“Yeah." Amrod settled onto a stool at Curufin's elbow and poked at the newspaper Curufin had been examining. "Did you see Uncle Nolofinwë’s going to be running for State Congress? Dad was being all weird about it at dinner.”

“Oh, don’t get me started on that farce.”

Amras sighed loudly. “Jesus, you are so boring.”

Curufin laid his sunglasses on the countertop with a snap. “No one asked your opinion, philistine.”

“Whatever. Let’s do something else.” Amras nudged Caranthir. “We can leave these two to talking about whatever boring crap.”

Caranthir glanced over at Curufin, then shrugged. “Sure. You wanna go hang out in the basement?”

“No.” Amras twitched his shoulders and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m so sick of being in this place, let’s go outside.”

They left Amrod and Curufin in the kitchen and made their way to the back of the house, where the door opened onto the deck that abutted Nerdanel’s studio.

“So you wanna, uh, throw a disc around or something?” Caranthir made a vague gesture that might have been throwing a frisbee, or else operating a floodgate.

“Hah. My aim is probably going to be all kinds of messed up thanks to this thing.” Amras jerked his thumb towards his eye.

Caranthir grunted. “Good, we’ll be on even playing field then, because I have never thrown a goddamn frisbee straight in my entire life.”

Amras gave a shadow of a smile. “Perfect.”

As Caranthir dug through the garden shed, unearthing snow shovels and old volleyballs in his quest, Amrod came out quietly and sat on the steps to the deck. Amras ignored him, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the sun and waiting for Caranthir.

Caranthir emerged at last, dusty and cobwebbed, with a battered green frisbee in one hand. “Christ, we have a lot of volleyballs considering we never owned a volleyball net. Okay, you ready for this?”

Amras widened his stance and flexed his hands. “Try me.”

Caranthir straightened his back, cocked his wrist and let the frisbee fly. It curved left, soaring high over Amras’ head, over the fence, and into the neighbors’ woods, where it vanished. They both stared contemplatively after it.

“You weren’t kidding,” said Amras, after a while.

“Ahh, well, who the hell am I, Tyelko? I don’t fuck with sports props.” Caranthir threw up his arms and shuffled over to the willow that held the remains of their old tree house. He cast himself down on the bench beneath it, the boards only slightly damp from recently melted snow, and Amras came over to sit next to him. “It was a dumb idea.”

“Typical.” Amras grinned and elbowed him. “Dumb idea from a dumbass.”

“Watch it,” grumbled Caranthir, digging an elbow into his ribs in turn. They grappled briefly and then Amras subsided, leaning his head back on the bench and staring at the sky through the bare, waving boughs of the willow. Caranthir stretched out his legs and kicked his heels absently into the wet, mucky grass. He stared across the yard to where Amrod was still sitting on the steps, and said quietly, “You and Telvo fighting?”

“No.”

“Kinda looks like it.”

“He’s just getting on my nerves.”

“Huh.”

Amras grimaced, still looking at the sky. “He’s just…he's been such an ass-kisser lately. He’s being this chipper little gofer for mom and dad, and it’s just like, enough already, get over yourself. We get it, you’re so helpful, you’re such a supportive kid, you’re doing well in school, you’re not the one who makes trouble for everyone…” Amras trailed off and glowered at a passing cloud. “Forget it. It’s whatever, you don’t get it.”

“Yeah, right, I don’t know anything about perfect goody two shoes little brothers.” Caranthir snorted. “Who’d I show up with here today? Telvo’s got nothing on Curvo for ass-kissery. I’m sure he’ll be back to being just as much of an annoying brat as you are, soon. He’s probably just trying to be helpful.”

“Well yeah, of course he is, but that’s such a pain in the butt.” Amras joined Caranthir in digging up the turf with his toes. “Every time he gets to be the well-behaved, thoughtful one, it just makes me feel like a dick for not doing everything mom and dad say.”

“Yeah, I know that feeling.” Caranthir fell silent for a moment. “Are they still fighting? Mom and dad.”

“Dad’s sleeping in their room again sometimes, if that’s what you mean.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

They sat in silence a while, the aging boards of the tree house creaking amiably above them, and Amras shivered in a sudden breeze. He tucked his hands into his armpits, and Caranthir yawned. “I think I’m gonna grab a snack or something, I’m starving. We’ve been living on half rations because the grocery budget is going towards – Well, it’s a long story, I’ll tell you when I get back. You’re gonna love it, Curvo’s the worst. But half the reason I came over here was to steal food.”

“Not to see me?” Amras gave a mock pout, though the joke didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You’re the other half of the reason, stupid. But I’m gonna grab some stuff to eat if we’re gonna be out here for a while.” Amras shivered again as Caranthir got to his feet. “Where’s your sweatshirt? I’ll grab it while I’m in there.”

“In my room.”

“I’ll be back with snacks in a sec. Oh, and tell Telvo to stop sitting there looking like Huan when he’s locked out of Tyelko’s room. He should come hang out with us.” Caranthir walked off before Amras could respond, and vanished back into the house, kicking sociably at Amrod as he passed.

Amras sighed, and gazed up at the tree house above his head. The breeze swung a willow bough across his cheek, and he brushed at it impatiently before uncrossing his arms and looking across the yard at his twin. “Moryo says you look like an emo dog,” he called, and Amrod raised his head. “So knock it off and come over here and help me figure out how to get the frisbee back from the neighbors. I think we might be able to see where it went if we go up into the tree house.”

 

* * *

 

Someone tapped on the doorframe to the twins’ room, and Fëanor and Nerdanel looked up to see Curufin hovering awkwardly in the doorway. “Ah. Telvo said you were up here. Should I just wait for you in your study?”

Nerdanel got to her feet. “No, that’s fine. He’s all yours, Atarinkë.” She smiled and Curufin gave an uncertain smile back. “I’ve been putting off studio work all morning, despite Irmo’s incessant emails about my progress, so I should get to it. Wish me luck.” As she crossed the room, she kissed her fingers and laid them lightly to Curufin’s cheek.

“Good luck,” said Curufin softly.

Nerdanel left, and Fëanor got to his feet too, moving a little stiffly. “ I am sorry to have kept you waiting, I know you have class later today. Let’s get to the study, shall we?”

Curufin still looked awkward. “Is this not a good time? I can wait.”

“It is always a fine time to talk to you, Curufinwë. Come on, I have some articles to pass along to you as well.”

Once in the study, Fëanor sat himself in his desk chair with a sigh; Curufin perched on the edge of the couch, but Fëanor shook his head. “No, let me draw you up a chair, no need to sit so far away.”

Curufin resettled himself on a chair by Fëanor’s desk, and Fëanor smiled at him. “You said in your email you had ‘logistical matters’ to discuss. Well? Lay it on me.”

“Yes. Well.” Curufin hesitated a moment, and then plunged on. “I am sorry to report that I have discovered mold in our house.”

Fëanor’s brows drew together. “Mold?”

“Yes.”

“Is it bad? Have any of you gotten sick?”

“No, we – I – caught it only by accident. It’s in the walls and ceiling, at least of the spare room, and it seems it is more widespread as well. I suspect some of the heavy rains of past years have caused leaks in the attic, and the moisture has allowed mold to grow.”

Fëanor was still frowning. “How did you learn about the spare room? And what do you mean ‘it seems’ to be more widespread?”

Curufin sighed. “Well…”

Fëanor listened as Curufin launched into the explanation, his eyebrows raising higher and higher, periodically interjecting a question.

“Interesting decision-making. Was the rewiring entirely necessary for improving the WiFi efficacy?”

“By my estimates, yes, it was.”

“Was the amount of improvement worth the trouble?”

“That... has apparently been an arguable point.”

Fëanor listened on, a finger to his lips, breaking in again as Curufin got to the moment at which Celegorm fell through the ceiling.

“Is Tyelkormo all right? Uninjured?”

“Yes, I made sure. He’s shockingly durable, you know.”

Fëanor lifted his eyes to the ceiling. “I do. Go on.”

Curufin finally got to the end of the saga, and Fëanor looked at him. “So the four of you funded these repairs on your own.”

“Well, we tried.” Curufin straightened up on his chair and folded his hands. “But that is why I’m here, or, one of the reasons. Unfortunately none of us currently have extensive funds, and it looks like the contractor is running over the estimate – ”

“They always do,” muttered Fëanor.

“ – so in order to get the mold mitigation properly wrapped up, we could use some financial assistance.” Curufin clasped his hands between his knees. “I’m really sorry to have to come to you with this,” he said in a rush. “And I’m sorry that I inadvertently put Tyelko through the ceiling, and that I didn’t tell you about it. I had hoped that I could deal with it on my own, I know you have more important things to deal with.”

“There’s nothing more important than making sure my sons have a safe roof over their heads.” Fëanor looked like he was holding back a laugh. “Or under their feet, as the case may be.”

Curufin smiled, embarrassed.

“You truly thought it was a good idea to send your heaviest brother into the attic?”

“Well,” mumbled Curufin, “he’s the only one who would do it without too many questions. I had a vision.”

Fëanor laughed. “God, Curvo, if only you had been old enough to work with me at the company. We could have moved mountains. Though admittedly,” he added, as Curufin flushed with pleasure, “those mountains may have inadvertently fallen through people’s roofs, depending on your ability to give direction.”

“My directions were impeccable,” said Curufin indignantly. “Tyelko is just terrible at listening.”

“Now there is an inescapable truth.” Fëanor shook his head. “Of course I will pay for the remainder of the repairs, and if you tell me how much you have already spent, I will reimburse you four for what you are out.”

“There’s no need, really – ”

“Don’t listen to him,” said Caranthir, appearing from nowhere with a sweatshirt dangling from his hand and sticking his head into the study. “Think how much better our return as your living investments will be if our money isn’t spent on mold removal in our 20s. Also Makalaurë’s been living on day old muffins for a week and could use his money back if he’s ever gonna poop normally again. ‘Sup, dad.” He vanished again, and Curufin glowered after him.

“It’s no problem, Curvo,” said Fëanor good-humoredly. “I own the house you live in, I can invest in its upkeep. Keep your money and in the future, just tell me earlier when something needs fixed.”

“I shall endeavor to do so.”

“But thank you for coming clean, I know the prospect of owning up to something can be daunting.” Fëanor took out his checkbook and began to write. “I’ll leave the amount blank and trust you to fill it in accurately to reimburse you four.” He tore off the check and handed it to Curufin. “Let me look up some contractor quotes I got in the past while we’re at it, I wouldn’t put it past this one to try and slip something past you, knowing you’re young and inexperienced.”

Curufin tucked the check into his pocket. “As if Moryo wasn’t poring over every bill like it was the Voynich manuscript.”

“Still, it can’t hurt to have some alternate names and figures on hand. Let’s see...” Fëanor slid open his filing cabinet and began to rummage through it, flipping through files labeled ‘House’ and ‘Maintenance.’

Curufin watched him, and took a deep breath. “While we’re on the subject of confessing things, on a more personal note there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.” He waited, but Fëanor was still engrossed in the file folder. “Father, I’ve been – ”

Fëanor pulled out a sheet of paper and examined it. “You’re involved with Arafinwë’s oldest boy.”

Curufin froze.

But Fëanor was speaking as casually as if they were discussing something he’d read in the paper that morning. “I was wondering when you were going to tell me, but then I thought maybe it hadn’t lasted. I take it that is not the case?”

It took Curufin a while to find his voice, but Fëanor seemed unconcerned, laying a couple sheets of paper on the desk as he waited. At last Curufin managed, “You knew?”

Fëanor slid one folder back into place. “I saw you with him outside the hospital after Pityo’s accident.”

There were two spots of red burning in Curufin’s cheeks. “You didn’t say anything.”

“Should I have?”

Curufin swallowed. “Are you upset?”

Fëanor sighed and sat back in his chair. “I don’t know, Curvo, should I be?” He brushed a hand over his forehead, looking weary. “My getting upset seems to avail me nothing, these days. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in recent years it is that trying to understand, or worse, trying to get involved with my sons’ love lives is a fool’s errand. Am I upset that you didn’t tell me sooner? Well, I wish you had considered it worth my notice, but your life is your own business, and you had your reasons, I am sure.  I thought perhaps like me, you thought it wouldn’t last, or that you were embarrassed, but who am I to speculate?”

Curufin cleared his throat with an effort. “But are you upset that I am with him at all?”

Fëanor shrugged. “No, I am not upset. It is what it is.” He tapped his fingers on the desk. “I may not comprehend the apparently irresistible magnetism of my stepbrothers’ children, or understand the decision making process some of you employ when choosing a lover, but I know when I’ve been beat. I will not try and dissuade you from your choice. ”

Curufin tightened his fingers and fixed his eyes on the carpet. “So you’re saying you _don’t_ think I should be with him.”

“That is your own interpretation. I have said nothing of the sort, Curufinwë.” Fëanor stopped drumming his fingers and leaned forward to lay a hand on Curufin’s shoulder. “I am simply saying I am choosing my battles more carefully these days.” He patted Curufin’s shoulder, then slid his cabinet drawer closed. “I trust you. If you are happy, then who am I to argue? A simplistic philosophy, to be sure, but one your mother has been promoting for a while now. She is far wiser than I on certain things, and perhaps I should finally yield to her wisdom on this point.”

Curufin was still staring at the floor, at his father’s highly polished shoes. “I... am happy.”

“Then that shall have to be good enough for us both.” Fëanor waited for Curufin to say something else, and when he didn’t, he patted his shoulder again. “Was there more you wanted to discuss, or can we move on to that _Economist_ piece I sent you last week?”

“No, there’s nothing more.” Curufin shook his head and straightened up, meeting his father’s gaze. “Let’s move on. Do you _honestly_ think the yuan is going to hold at current rates? Because if so, I have some property to sell you in Tianchang.”


	77. Forever's half as long

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanky-panky, work woes, and the importance of locks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Make outs in scene 1; sex in scene 2. I’m making up for chapter 76’s lack of shippiness by throwing ALL THE SHIPPINESS in here.

Curufin looked around the tiny office; the towering file cabinets, the piles of papers. He opened his mouth.

“I know,” said Finrod.

Curufin pointed at a mostly dead plant.

“Yes, I know.”

Curufin pointed at the schedule that depicted office hours for the four different TAs who shared the space.

“I know,” said Finrod.

Curufin folded his arms. “Are you doing penance for something?”

“This is academia, darling,” said Finrod, leaning his hip against the edge of his desk and crossing his arms as well. “One takes what one can get.”

“Don’t call me darling, it’s condescending.”

“You needed to be condescended to.” Finrod smiled. “I like my office just fine, and I even neatened it up for you. Look, nothing on the floor.” He gestured, and Curufin eyed the carpet.

“Goodness, how…gracious.”

“It’s quite serviceable for my needs, and with any luck I won’t be in it more than another year, god willing. I know it’s small and crowded, but it suits me fine.” Finrod got up from the desk and crossed the room. “And besides, it has a door with a latch and everything.”

“So wha- ” Curufin was cut off as Finrod cupped his face in his hands and kissed him. “You are very,” said Curufin, when he could speak again, “predictable.”

“And yet somehow you still always manage to look surprised when I kiss you.” Finrod was still cradling Curufin’s face, and he touched his thumb lightly to Curufin’s lips. “It is both charming and disconcerting.”

“You are both charming and disconcerting.”

“Thank you.” Finrod kissed him again, and this time Curufin wrapped his hands around Finrod’s wrists and kissed him back.

Finrod made a pleased noise as Curufin dragged him back towards the wall, narrowly dodging the crooked bookshelf. “Is this okay?” he murmured against Curufin’s lips.

“Yes.” Curufin ducked away and pressed his mouth beneath Finrod’s ear, mouthing lightly at his neck. “Are we indulging you?” he whispered, closing his eyes as Finrod dropped his hands to Curufin’s waist and slid his fingers under the hem of his shirt. “Are we indulging your apparently unquenchable desire to do risqué acts in semi-public places?”

“Semi-public? This is a private office,” said Finrod, tugging the collar of Curufin’s shirt down so he could press a kiss to Curufin’s collarbone.

“And what if someone comes looking for your office hours?”

“The door latches.”

“But it is not, currently, latched.”

“Hmm, is it not?”

Curufin dragged a sharp hand through Finrod’s hair, half smiling to see him disheveled. “You are as transparent as glass, Ingoldo.”

Finrod laughed, then drew back and looked at him, his expression fading into seriousness. “We do not have to do this here,” he said, taking Curufin’s hand and lacing their fingers together. “I will always enjoy kissing you, but we can save it until we are somewhere more secure.”

Curufin worried his lower lip between his teeth meditatively. “I don’t know, perhaps I am feeling a bit…reckless.”

Finrod’s eyes brightened. “Oh?” he asked, his voice warm.

“The door is closed,” said Curufin, and he looked at Finrod through lowered eyelashes, a slight smile curling his lips. “That is good enough.”

Finrod laughed again, joyful now, and pulled Curufin across the room by the hand. He pushed the chair out of the way and settled Curufin against the desk, his arms braced on either side of Curufin’s waist. He lowered his head and kissed Curufin’s left shoulder very deliberately, then did the same to the right shoulder.

“Are you enjoying the taste of my sweater?” Curufin cocked an eyebrow, and Finrod grinned and nibbled at the wool.

“Mmm, delicious.”

Outside on the quad, the clock tower chimed the hour, and Curufin started slightly, moving under Finrod’s weight resting against him, then settled down, his hands smoothing over Finrod’s chest and then coming to rest on his shoulders. This time, when Finrod bent down, he caught Curufin’s lips deliberately and kissed him, long and slow, and Curufin’s hands tightened on his shoulders before pulling him closer.

By the time the clock tower chimed again, a half hour later, they both started up in some surprise, Curufin’s hair ruffled and Finrod’s cheeks flushed. A neat pile of papers on the desk had been disturbed.

“Is it 5:30 already?”

“Let me check my… Yes, I suppose it is.” Finrod leaned over to check his phone, then rested his forehead against Curufin’s. His collar was undone and his eyes were shining, his hands re-settling at Curufin’s hips. “Do you need to head out?”

“No, they cancelled my lab.” Curufin twisted his fingers through Finrod’s hair with enough of an edge of roughness that Finrod caught his breath, his flush deepening.

“Curvo – ”

Curufin smiled. “Do you like this?” he whispered. “Nothing but a thin door between us and the world? Do you like it unkempt and filthy?”

“Mmm, I – ” Finrod’s eyes flicked over Curufin’s body, and then to the floor. He frowned. “Filthy? Curvo, there are exactly two pieces of paper on the ground.”

“Like I said.” Curufin ran a hand through his tousled hair, rather pleased with himself. “And I’m sure I look a debauched mess.”

“You have maybe three hairs out of pl – You know what, it doesn’t matter.” Finrod caught Curufin around the waist and pulled him close, kissing him hungrily. “You are impossibly sexy either way.”

“Like ‘darling’,” murmured Curufin, widening his legs so that he could pull Finrod between them. “ ‘Sexy’ is not one of those words I am particularly fond of. Find another.”

“ _Maddening_. You are utterly, impossibly, irresistibly maddening.”

“That I can live with,” said Curufin and wound his hands once more into Finrod’s hair. There was a busy silence for another few minutes, broken only by Finrod gasping slightly as Curufin bit at his lower lip. Then Curufin said, “I told my father about us.”

“That’s nice,” said Finrod distractedly, and then he pulled back from Curufin’s hands. “Wait, what? Say that again.”

Curufin ran his tongue over his lips. “I told my father about us.”

“ _Oh_. What did he say?”

Curufin shrugged. “He already knew.”

“What?”

“He saw us outside the hospital that night.” Finrod’s arms had dropped back to his sides, and Curufin leaned back against the desk, casually flicking a hand through his hair to neaten it, straightening his collar. “It seems he was just waiting for me to tell him myself.”

“Why didn’t he ask you?”

“He thought maybe ‘it’ hadn’t lasted.” Curufin examined a loose thread on his sleeve. “Which to be fair wasn’t an unreasonable expectation.”

“Oh no?” said Finrod softly.

Curufin ignored this. “He didn’t explicitly criticize my choice, though. I mean, he didn’t comment on you one way or the other, but he did not air any personal objections.”

“That’s…something.” Finrod had pulled back slightly.

“I mean, I don’t think he was delighted, but he said he wasn’t going to fight these battles anymore.” Curufin looked studiously at the carpet. “Which I suppose means at one point he _would_ have fought my decision, but now it doesn’t rank as a priority.”

Finrod pulled in a breath and let it out in a long sigh, like something had just become clear to him. He laid his hand on Curufin’s leg. “Curvo, when was the last time your father reacted to something you did with anything but explicit praise and support?”

Curufin’s face was expressionless. “Probably the time I called him and told him we weren’t going to speak anymore.”

Finrod touched Curufin’s cheek. “Is this why you’re feeling so ‘reckless’?”

“Of course not.” Curufin scoffed. “I just wanted to mention it had happened, and I forgot about it until now.”

“Maybe it would be a good idea for me to actually meet your father. I don’t think he and I have actually interacted much all these years, and this way he could get a better sense of who I am and my – ”

“No.” Curufin shook his head decisively.

“You don’t want us to get to know each other?”

“You don’t understand how these things work. Not with him. Don’t push yourself onto him.”

“I wasn’t going to _push myself_ anywhere, Curvo,” said Finrod, his voice a little sharp.

Curufin narrowed his eyes. “Don’t get all offended on me, it’s not like you’ve rushed me home to introduce me to your family either.”

“That’s not fair! I would love to – ”

“Whatever, that’s not the point. The point is that you don’t have to fall over yourself to try and make my father like you, he has enough to handle right now without another bit of melodramatic family theater. He has to deal with his step brother very publicly announcing an attention-grabbing congressional bid, and the last thing he needs is further distraction from that side of the family.”

Finrod’s eyes flashed, but his voice was calm. “I do apologize on behalf of _that side_ of the family. The sheer nerve of us living our lives without getting your father’s approval.”

Curufin’s face darkened in anger, and he started to respond angrily. Then, abruptly, he laughed.

Finrod glowered at him.

Curufin put his head on the side and regarded him. “You should be scathing more often, Ingo, it’s kind of refreshing.”

"What an effective derailment of my emotional response."

"Yes, it was, wasn't it?"

Finrod sucked in a breath, his momentary anger fading slightly. “Contrary to popular opinion, I am capable of losing my temper.” 

“I know. It's good for you to practice being angry on occasion.”

"I'll keep that in mind." Finrod's posture loosened somewhat, and he leaned forward against Curufin again. “After all, I am always eager to keep you refreshed.”

"Good." Curufin touched Finrod's lips a moment, then pushed at him impatiently. “Move up.”

Finrod shifted over so they were side by side leaning against the desk, and Curufin straightened his sleeves in a businesslike way. Finrod watched him.

“Are we just done now?”

Curufin started, almost losing his balance. “What? Are we _done_?” He stared at Finrod.

“Done with,” Finrod gestured to their rumpled clothes. “Making out, I mean. We seem to have shifted gears into, well, fighting instead.” He glanced at Curufin and his expression softened. He carefully smoothed down the shoulder of Curufin’s shirt. “I’m not done with _you_.”

Curufin nodded, and pointed. “Your shirt is unbuttoned.”

Finrod did up his collar and laid his hand on the desk, his fingers brushing against Curufin’s. They stayed in silence for a while, and then Curufin turned his head. Fixing his eyes somewhere around Finrod’s throat, he said carefully, “I am not used to making choices of which my father does not fully approve. I mean, in the past year or so I have gotten slightly more accustomed to the notion, given certain circumstances, but I hardly planned to make a habit of it or anything. For the most part, my opinions and those of my father have aligned, and that is a notion I am comfortable with.”

“To be fair, he hasn’t explicitly disagreed or objected. Remember his reactions to your brothers; he practically disinherited Maitimo and Tyelkormo. Isn’t this better?”

“Well, obviously. But I don’t want his approval simply because he’s too exhausted to have opinions on our lives anymore.” Curufin scowled. “This bland acceptance because it’s better than a fight…that’s barely better than disapproval. I’d rather elicit an emotional reaction of any kind, positive or otherwise, than some sort of defeated _default._ ”

“Because your assumption is that if he doesn’t say convincingly enough that he is happy and delighted, then he must secretly be opposed.”

“Not even that secretly. I know he is opposed to my decision, he’s just not saying so.” Curufin looked at his lap and smoothed his hands over his thighs to press away any wrinkles in the fabric. “Being on the other side of something from him is new. It makes me…question myself. I do not like questioning myself.”

“I can understand that,” said Finrod softly.

“It takes some adjustment, is all.”

“I can understand that too.”

Curufin’s jaw worked, and he swallowed once or twice before he finally said, “I’m not done with you either.”

Finrod didn’t say anything, but leaned forward and kissed the corner of Curufin’s mouth. Curufin closed his eyes and turned his head and kissed him back, his fingers curling around Finrod's on the desk. Almost unconsciously, they shifted around to face each other, and their feet stirred the pages that had fluttered to the ground. Outside, the clock chimed a third time, but it was a long time before they paid it any heed.  

 

* * *

 

“Ouch,” said Glorfindel, and shifted his elbow.

Ecthelion immediately stopped moving. “Are you okay? Did I do something – Should we – ”

“No, it’s fine!” Glorfindel grinned over his shoulder. “Just had a little – oof – charley horse, but lemme stretch out my arm and we’ll be set.”

“Do you want to rearrange? Maybe another position will be more comfortable for you.”

“That’s okay, I like this fine.” Glorfindel reached back to touch Ecthelion’s hip reassuringly. “Keep going.”

Ecthelion nodded, and started moving again, and Glorfindel closed his eyes and dropped his head back on Ecthelion’s shoulder.

“Ahh.”

“Does that feel okay?”

“Yes.” Glorfindel hooked a leg behind Ecthelion’s knee, spreading his legs further apart and securing Ecthelion against his back. “Mm, yes.”

“Good. You – Oh, god, you feel really good, Glorfindel.” Ecthelion’s breathing was heavy, his hands shaking a little where he clutched at Glorfindel’s hips, and he moved them up, wrapping his arms over Glorfindel’s chest. “I can’t believe how good you feel.”

“And here I thought I was going to be a letdown,” said Glorfindel breathlessly, and Ecthelion made a muffled noise of protest. “I thought you were supposed to spend all your time in the barracks imagining this, and getting yourself riled up for how mind-blowing I am in bed.” He laughed. “Joke’s on you, there, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

“You’re doing a very good job,” said Ecthelion, panting, and pushed Glorfindel’s hair aside to kiss his neck. “You need to be reprimanded for suggesting you could ever be a letdown, but yes, you are correct, I spent quite a bit of my nights in the barracks imagining this. Oh! Damn.”

“What?”

“The condom came off.”

Glorfindel laughed again and collapsed down onto his side as Ecthelion pulled back and rummaged around for a while. “Comedy of errors, huh?”

“I’m sorry,” said Ecthelion, who was trying to grab more lube from the bedside table without falling off the bed. “I should be far better coordinated than this.”

“No worries,” said Glorfindel, propping his head on his hand as he waited. “This gives me a chance to really examine your room, seeing as I didn’t get much of a chance to look earlier before we dove into bed. It’s quite a… room. Don’t you think you might be taking ‘Spartan’ a little too literally?”

“I got rid of a lot of my stuff before basic.”

“Yes. Like, everything.” Glorfindel raised his eyebrows as he scanned the sparse shelves. “Not to say I don’t like being somewhere private with you, no matter the furnishings, but ‘monastic cell’ might be more accurate description for this than ‘bedroom.’ If it wasn’t for the fact that you’re looking for another condom right now I’d be wondering if you took a vow to have sex with no one but God.”

“I promise I took no vows.” Ecthelion was back, his chest solid against Glorfindel’s back, his voice a warm murmur in Glorfindel’s ear. “Do you want to keep talking about my décor, or do you want to keep going?”

Glorfindel smiled brilliantly and tipped his head back until he could kiss Ecthelion on the lips. “I could do both, I’ve gotten really good at multi-tasking.”

“Have you?”

“Yes. Since you left, I’ve gotten really good at talking to you on the phone with one hand and…not talking with the other.”

“Those phone calls helped my barracks imaginings quite a bit, let me tell you.” Ecthelion sat up and tapped Glorfindel’s hip gently to urge him up with him. This time he pulled Glorfindel up onto his knees and slid against him from behind so that Glorfindel was straddling his lap. “Can we try it like this?”

“Yes.” Glorfindel shifted experimentally, and slipped a little. “Damn, Thel, think you used enough lube?”

“The bottle got – ah – away from me…”

The bed creaked complainingly once or twice and then settled into a steady, low creaking beneath the less steady breaths and half cut-off moans. As Glorfindel pressed his hips back, Ecthelion gasped and then coughed as he half inhaled a strand of Glorfindel’s hair.

“Hah, shit. Sorry!” Glorfindel reached back, making to tie his hair into a knot, but Ecthelion grabbed his wrist and folded his arms around Glorfindel’s chest, immobilizing him.

“Leave it,” he whispered, burying his face in Glorfindel’s hair. “Leave it, please.” Glorfindel shifted, his hair falling back over his shoulders, and Ecthelion groaned. “Glorfindel - ”

“Yeah?”

“I’m getting close.”

Glorfindel laughed again, delighted. “ _Yes_. Do whatever you have to – Oh dang, charley horse again.”

Ecthelion groaned as Glorfindel resettled himself. “Ahh, please…”

“Like that?”

“Yes. Oh god, Glorfindel…” Ecthelion’s arms tightened convulsively around Glorfindel’s chest, and Glorfindel closed his eyes, throwing his head back and his own breath quickening as Ecthelion shook silently through his orgasm.

It took Ecthelion a minute to collect himself, but then he extricated himself carefully, pressing a tender kiss to Glorfindel’s shoulder before he shifted back and Glorfindel toppled over to the sheets with a pleased groan. Ecthelion slipped off the condom and tied it off, then returned to Glorfindel on the bed, who was lying happily against the pillows.

“You didn’t finish,” whispered Ecthelion, running his hands down Glorfindel’s chest. “Let me do something for you.”

“Mmm.” Glorfindel caught Ecthelion’s hand and kissed it. “Don’t worry about it.”

“But – ”

“Trust me, I am very happy.” Glorfindel stretched out and pulled Ecthelion against him, kissing him to demonstrate the veracity of his happiness, and Ecthelion yielded to being pulled against his shoulder.

“If you say so.”

They lay together, Glorfindel still grinning irrepressibly at the ceiling while Ecthelion closed his eyes and nuzzled at Glorfindel’s throat. It was a moment of almost impeccable peace and contentment.

The calm was broken by brisk footsteps in the hallway, a perfunctory knock, and the door opening almost immediately.

“Thel, where is your flute?”

“Ría!” Ecthelion bolted upright, throwing the sheet over Glorfindel. “What do you thing you’re doing?”

Ríanellë took in the two of them naked on the bed and dutifully clapped her hand over her eyes. But she didn’t leave. “Listen, we really could use it. Is it in the closet?”

Ecthelion sputtered, apparently too appalled to form words. Glorfindel chuckled and sat up, hoisting the sheets around his waist. “You didn’t lock the door?”

“It doesn’t lock,” said Ríanellë, standing on her tiptoes to peer onto a shelf. “What on earth, Ecthelion, you threw out everything you’ve owned since 2009 but you still have a decaying Furby up here?”

“What?” Glorfindel was laughing, and a flush burned on Ecthelion’s high cheekbones.

“I must have overlooked it. Ríanellë, if you don’t leave right now – ”

“Did you find it?” Maglor wandered into the room. “Come on Ría, we’re so close.”

“That’s what _he_ said,” said Glorfindel cheerfully, as Ecthelion buried his face in his hands.

“Oh, hello, Glorfindel,” said Maglor, respectfully covering his eyes as well. He peeked through his fingers. “You uh, have a little something stuck to your – ” He gestured, and Glorfindel glanced down to pull free the condom wrapper that was stuck to his chest. “Ecthelion, Ríanellë says you have at least one flute around here, I assume you took your good instrument to the USMC, but if you have one here we could really use it for this thing we’re trying.”

Glorfindel, who had started grinning broadly at ‘instrument’, wrapped his arms over his shins and rested his chin on his knees. “What kind of thing?”

“Don’t encourage them,” said Ecthelion. “Ría, my flute is in the case on the bottom shelf, take it, get out, and please never return.”

“Hey, my brother mentioned something about some of your old teammates,” said Maglor, addressing Glorfindel. “But it sounded too crazy to be real. Did one of them really stab the other almost to death? But like the stabbed one isn’t even pressing charges, and they’re still buddies? That’s not true, is it? Tyelko is such an unreliable narrator.”

“It’s true, your brother isn’t lying,” said Glorfindel, blowing a strand of hair out of his eyes. “Beleg’s still in rehab but from what I’ve heard, Túrin is over there every day he can get away from Thingol and Melian. And yeah, Mablung makes it sound like Beleg isn’t holding a grudge, which seems in character. Mablung might be holding a grudge for him, which is also in character.”

Ecthelion gave Glorfindel a pleading look, as Ríanellë settled down on the floor with the flute case in her arms and an intently listening look as Glorfindel went on.

“They’ve been trying to get ahold of Túrin’s mother, I think, but they’re not actually sure where she is.”

“My brother said something about a foster father Túrin had at some point?”

“Mîm. Yeah. He’s been kinda in and out it sounds like, but he and Thingol don’t get along great, you know, there’s some bad blood there.”

“You have all the details,” said Maglor, rapt. “I should have tapped you for gossip _ages_ ago, how do you know all this?

Glorfindel shrugged. “I was their captain, I knew them pretty well. I’ve tried to stay in touch and in the loop on things even after I graduated, especially since the team was in such uproar after last year.”

“So were they really in a gang of – ”

“There’s an entire bottle of lube overturned under the bed,” interrupted Ríanellë, who had been avoiding staring at Glorfindel's bare chest by examining the rest of the room. “Gosh, Thel, you slob.”

“Okay, that’s it. Get _out_.” Ecthelion jumped up, his movement pulling the sheet off Glorfindel entirely. Glorfindel raised his eyebrows as Ecthelion, a blanket wrapped haphazardly around his hips, pointed furiously to the door. “I don’t like to raise my voice, but if you don’t get out right now, I am going to grab my utility knife and gut you like a salmon.”

Ríanellë and Maglor fled, and Glorfindel, naked and unflustered on the bed, looked at Ecthelion, impressed. “I’m not going to lie, that was pretty hot.”

“I miss the barracks,” said Ecthelion, and dropped down on the edge of the bed, covering his face with his hands.

Glorfindel scooted over to rest his chin on Ecthelion’s shoulder and wrap an arm over Ecthelion’s chest. He nuzzled against Ecthelion’s short black hair, and kissed the tip of his ear. “Do you really?” he murmured.

“No.” Ecthelion dropped his hands and turned to wrap his arms around Glorfindel’s neck as Glorfindel pulled him into his lap. “No, not even slightly.”

 

* * *

 

Galadriel finished folding the last of the jewel tone peasant blouses and laid it carefully on top of the pile. She stepped away to re-hang a maxidress that been put away in the blazer rack by accident, and a young woman drifted over to rifle through the pile of blouses that Galadriel had just neatened.

“They’re all the same,” whispered Galadriel to the maxi-dress, as she twitched its skirt straight. “And they’re sorted by size… There’s really no need to look at every single one… But yes, yes, do it anyway.”

The girl looked up from the disordered pile she had just created, frowning, and Galadriel clamped her lips shut and busied herself amongst the dresses. The girl moved on to rifle through the next neatly sorted pile, and Galadriel moaned faintly.

“Can you take a turn at the dressing rooms?” One of Galadriel’s coworkers appeared at her shoulder just in time to prevent her from collapsing into the dress rack.

“Yes,” said Galadriel in relief, and hurried over to the changing rooms.

Soon bored, she lingered by the changing stalls, turning discarded clothes right-side out.

“What do you think of this mini?”

“Oooh, it’s cute. How do you feel about the cinching though?”

“Yeah, I don’t know if I’m into it. I love that top you have on!”

“I know, isn’t it great?” The girl pivoting in front of the mirror hitched at the top she was wearing. “Do you think I can pull it off? The straps are a little – ”

“They’re not designed for anyone with a bosom over an A cup,” said Galadriel wisely, from behind her pile of clothes. “Very little in this place is. Sometimes you can make the tailored stuff work for a curvier figure, but honestly, the abundance of spaghetti straps and tiny bodices makes this an incredibly unaccommodating line.” She leaned closer, not noticing the look on the customer’s face. “If you want better quality clothing that looks good on more than a nine year old frame,” she whispered conspiratorially, “The shop across the way has some excellent dresses…”

“Galadriel.”

“So while you can’t pull that one off – Seriously, I promise you’re going to take it home, put it in your closet and then never wear it again because the fit is absurd – if you look at the spring line at Yavanna’s you are going to be so much happier.” Galadriel straightened up, and caught her manager’s eye. “Yes?”

“My office. Now.”

In her supervisor’s office, Galadriel straightened her skirt and blinked at the manager, who was rubbing her temples.

“Headache?” asked Galadriel helpfully.

“Yes, you. Haven’t we talked about this? Keep your mouth shut if you can’t consider ‘Can I pull this off?’ a rhetorical question! Customers don’t want honesty, they want _encouragement_.”

“But she never would have worn that,” protested Galadriel. “It was obviously a bad choice.”

“Who cares? We’re not here to read people’s minds, we’re here to sell clothes and an experience.”

“I gave her an experience, surely,” said Galadriel. “I mean and technically _all_ interactions are experiences, though I know you’re wielding a phrase there.”

“Yes, you did give her an experience. Namely, the experience of never wanting to come into our store again.”

Galadriel thought about this, then bowed her head, conceding the point. “That may be true. Fair enough.”

“It’s _not_ fair enough! You can’t keep making our customers uncomfortable like this; we’re losing sales because of you.”

“Better a sale made in earnest than one to someone who will never wear or feel good in the clothes,” said Galadriel wisely. “Genuine comfort in an outfit is a far better advertisement than – ”

“Right. You’re fired.”

Galadriel blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

Her manager smiled humorlessly. “You’re usually so good at reading people, Galadriel, I shouldn’t have to repeat myself. You’re fired, dear.”

* * *

Galadriel sat on a bench outside the mall and pressed her phone to her ear. There were a number of faint rings, and then a click.

_“Hello, friend, you’ve reached Celeborn’s voicemail. I’m afraid I’m not answering the siren song of my pocket herald right now, but leave your name and star sign and I’ll get back to you. What? That tickles, Artanis, stop whispering. Oh! Yes, leave your number too. I’ll – ”_

Galadriel hung up and redialed.

This time, the call was picked up after the second ring. “Hello?”

“It’s me. I need you to come pick me up.”

“Pick you up where? Aren’t you working until 8 today?”

“Yes. I was. But then I got fired.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Then, “No, you didn’t,” said Aredhel briskly. “You don’t get fired. You are not one of us.”

“Ireth.”

“You are not of the feckless and fireable, you are the impressive and overqual – ”

“Ireth.”

“Yes?”

“I am not messing around. I am telling you I got fired from Forever 21.”

There was another long pause. “Was it because they found out you’re actually 23?”

Galadriel sighed deeply. “Just come pick me up, please.” She poked through the bag at her feet. “But I have a last pile of employee discount clothing that you can have for your trouble. How do you feel about spaghetti straps?”

 

* * *

 >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

_To: “Nerdanel M.” <nerdanel@istarniëstudios.com>_

_From: “Irmo L.” <irmo@gardenofloriengallery.org>_

_Subject: re: re: re: URGENT: third missed deadline_

_Nerdanel, dear,_

_The 5th_ _has come and gone. Long gone, in fact. As I said when I sent you an email on the 7th, and again on the 10th. Either you have forgotten the concept of deadlines, or you are ignoring my messages, but either way, I find myself at rather a loss._

_I’ve been incredibly patient with you over the last couple months, out of respect for our longtime association and my faith in you as an artist. I know that there has been a certain amount of turmoil in your family life, but after the understandable leeway I granted you after the new year, I expected to see things stabilize somewhat come Spring. I do not think either of us need to be told that this has not been the case, yet still, my patience continued._

_But I have a gallery to run, and this is no longer acceptable. You have missed four deadlines at this point, and the last draft work you sent to me was nowhere near your usual standards and frankly unrecognizable. Where is the artist whose sculptures were so lifelike that businessmen used to hit on them by accident? The artist I knew had a command of gesture and form that could reduce even the most jaded to tears.  What charlatan is submitting these sloppy homunculi in her name?  I’m concerned about you, Nerdanel, but I am also out of second chances to give. This cannot be working any better for you than it is for me._

_Consider our contract for the April show terminated (in truth you effectively voided it back in March by failing to miss the second deadline), as well as any handshake understandings we may have had about future work. Out of respect for our friendship, I will not be levying any penalty fees against you, but I do expect the return of any equipment the gallery has loaned you, as well as the keys to the back room. Should the artist I once knew and respected return to her former greatness, let her know I will be eager to talk._

_I hope you get your house in order, dear._

_Sincerely,_

_Irmo_

_PS While Aulë still has the market covered when it comes to disappointing protégés/recipients of his patronage, I am newly sympathetic to his plight._  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. So Snartha made a single, jokey, off-hand comment to me about Finrod’s hook-ups in his office after I got [this anon](http://imindhowwelayinjune.tumblr.com/post/141510203988/i-was-wondering-has-finrod-ever-gotten-up-to-any), and I ended up writing the first 2k words of this chapter as a result; her influence is either impressive or annoying. Lucky for me, she did some art to balance it out, which I include [here](http://imindhowwelayinjune.tumblr.com/post/142812348048/in-which-snartha-accurately-depicts-the-opening).


	78. Party with an eye on the door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Is everything okay?” Fingolfin called.
> 
> “Just some Fëanorion drama, apparently,” Finarfin called back.
> 
> “Typical,” said Fingolfin cheerfully

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Since this update is posting on my birthday, I thought it appropriate to include a small party :) The bonus awkwardness and melodrama is my BIRTHDAY GIFT TO ME  
> 1\. (Me and Fingon are both 27 now!) (I know this because I finally gave the characters birthdays just so I could verify who's my age at this point.) (I will just say that it inadvertently made some people older than I had been thinking, and some people younger.) (Sorry Orome, Celegorm was even younger than you thought when you first slept with him, all because I decided to give him a May birthday WHOOPS)  
> 2\. Anyway, Warnings: Some booze consumption, Curufin at his least easy, and a Council of Seven.

Fingon tucked his hands into his pockets and loped along at Fingolfin’s side, walking quickly to keep up with his father’s long strides.

“What do you think?”

“Of the downtown campaign headquarters?” Fingolfin’s dark hair was getting ruffled by the wind, and he ran a hand through it to keep it out of his eyes. “Well, it’s certainly…efficiently sized.”

“Small is good,” said Fingon, grinning. “I know we could utilize some of the resources of Finwë Corp, but I want to maintain some distance.” He stared thoughtfully down the street, as if he was measuring the distance between the two buildings in question.  When he spoke again, he had slipped unconsciously back into the voice he used when addressing their staff. “We’re not going to hide your professional background, but we don’t want to be the campaign backed by a large corporation. We’re trying to prove your bona fides beyond the business world and harness some of the energy of young people and more of the grassroots movements. It’s really important for us to emphasize that we’re not like the big moneyed interests. You were always a different kind of businessman. You’re doing this in good part to fight the kind of policies lobbied for by Utumno Industries and their ilk, and we need the power of the people as much the power of the boardroom. And the people I want aren’t in your conference rooms, they’re downtown. Besides, I’ve spent too much time in that building.” Fingon shuddered, and he sounded more like his usual self again. “No offense, Dad, but I’ll take the backroom behind a falafel shop any day over Conference Room D, even if it does have a good view.”

“That’s the other thing,” said Fingolfin, as Fingon hopped over a puddle. “I know the rent was good, but Findekáno, does it really _have_ to be the backroom behind a falafel shop?”

“Are you kidding?” Fingon was a little ahead of his father now and he turned around, walking backwards so he could smile at him. “That’s _why_ I chose it. You know how many long days and nights we’re going to be holed up in there? We need immediate access to good, cheap, 24-hour takeout! It’ll save us.”

“Oh,” said Fingolfin. “Goodness, Finno, you do think of everything.”

“See? Nepotism sometimes pays off.” Fingon spread his arms as drops of rain started to fall. “You didn’t just _hire_ a good campaign manager, you actually made him from scratch.”

“Ask your mother about that part,” said Fingolfin, but he was smiling too, affected by Fingon’s infectious enthusiasm. “I think she would likely describe it with a little more technicality than ‘from scratch’.”

“I think I’ll pass. But hey, dad, I was thinking.”

“That’s what I pay you for,” said Fingolfin, reaching out to ruffle up his son’s curls. “Or is this an unpaid thought?”

“It’s both a son thought and a campaign thought.” Fingon ducked his father’s hand and tugged the hood of his jacket up over his hair against the rain. “We were in such a rush with filing deadlines and press releases and hiring campaign staff…”

“Yes?”

“We totally forgot to have a launch party.”

Fingolfin laughed. “I hardly think that’s necessary.”

“Listen,” said Fingon, as Fingolfin opened up his umbrella, “I’m afraid to tell you this, but you did not raise a son who believes that parties are unnecessary.”

A bus roared by, and Fingolfin angled his umbrella defensively against the spray of water it sent up. “Isn’t that what your cousins are for?”

“Please, every Fëanorion party would turn into either arson or five hours of alt-mellow Maglor if it weren’t for the Nolofinwion party presence.” Fingon tossed his head. “Everyone knows that we’re the ones who bring it. No but seriously, it doesn’t have to be anything big, but come over to our apartment and let’s have some beers at least.”

“I was supposed to be meeting your uncle for a drink,” said Fingolfin, trying to check his watch.

“Have your drink at our place! I know Uncle Arfin was going to be with Findaráto earlier, let’s get them both to come. Findaráto will probably be able to dig Turno out of his books and bring him too.”

Fingolfin hesitated. “Well…”

Fingon folded his arms. “Candidate, I told you that if I was going to accept your job offer, I would need to be listened to.”

Fingolfin shook raindrops off his glasses and tried to look sternly at his oldest son. “Imp.”

“Father.”

They stared at each other a moment in the quickening rain, until Fingon arched an eyebrow in such an uncanny imitation of Anairë that Fingolfin broke eye contact to laugh.

“Oh, okay.” Fingolfin sighed, and then smiled as Fingon whooped. “I suppose there’s no harm.”

 

* * *

 

Curufin had walked from the bus stop for only a couple blocks, but by the time he reached Hithlum Ave, he was soaked to the skin. Seething, he climbed the stairs and pounded on the door to Maedhros and Fingon’s apartment. There was loud music coming from inside, and it did nothing to improve his mood. He pulled his bag around to examine the damage done to its contents and then, cursing under his breath, he knocked loudly again. He kicked at the door for good measure, his shoes squelching unsatisfyingly.

The door was pulled open, and Curufin planted his hands on his hips, already launching into the scathing speech for his brother he’d prepared on the way up the stairs.

“I don’t care what hideous debauchery you have going on right now, you have no excuse for not answering my texts and not coming to the door sooner whilst I seep like a gangrenous wound onto your doorstep. I don’t care if you have our cousin three feet up your – ” He stopped talking abruptly.

It wasn’t his brother who had opened the door, but a very tall, very blond man wearing argyle, whom Curufin had only seen a handful of times before.

“Oh, hello,” said Finarfin, smiling. “You must be Curufinwë.”

Curufin hunted for words, and found none. He considered stepping back to re-check the apartment number to make sure he was in the right place, because no explanation he could think of accounted for why Finrod’s father would be answering Maedhros’ door. Then he closed his eyes briefly, replaying his words, and only pride kept him from retreating back down the stairs at a run.

Someone appeared at Finarfin’s elbow, and Curufin felt almost wobbly with relief to see a familiar face.

“Uncle Arfin, is it the pizza?” Aredhel peeped around the door, and then waved. “Oh, hey Curvo! Did Maitimo send out an invite to you guys?”

“An invite?” said Curufin weakly.

“There is a belated campaign launch party being held for my brother,” said Finarfin. His voice was warm and clear; when Curufin wasn’t looking right at him, he could almost swear it was Finrod speaking. “It has turned into a gathering of family, mostly. It was apparently a last minute idea of Findekáno’s.”

“And Findekáno being Findekáno, he invited everyone in shouting distance at the last possible moment,” said Aredhel, rolling her eyes fondly. “So Maitimo came home to a surprise mob scene, but he’s being very cool about it, possibly because of beer and also what Findekáno promised to do to him in the bathro – ” She clamped her lips shut as if just remembering her uncle was standing next to her. 

Finarfin raised his eyebrows with a faint smile, a gesture that also felt eerily familiar.

Curufin shivered involuntarily on the doormat.

“Oh, I’m such an asshole. Come in!” exclaimed Aredhel, touching Curufin’s sopping sleeve. “Gosh. You poor drowned kitten, what were you doing?”

“I was trying to retrieve a book I left here,” said Curufin, letting Aredhel tug him inside, too wet and flustered to summon offense at being called ‘kitten.’

“Was that while you were staying here during the house construction?” asked Finarfin. “I hope you’ve been able to resettle comfortably now that the renovations have wrapped up. Would you like me to take that for you?”

Curufin hung onto his bag. “I can just pick my book up and then I should really – ”

“Oh, but you must stay," said Finarfin earnestly. “Findaráto will be so happy to see you, and I have been looking for an excuse to get to know you better.”

“Ingo – Findaráto’s here, is he?” said Curufin faintly. The music was quite loud, and while there weren’t as many people as he’d thought, it was crowded enough that the small living area was overly warm and stuffy.

Aredhel was watching him with some sympathy. “Yes, he is. Let me grab him.” She cupped her hands to her mouth and called, “Yo, Ingo, your boy is here!”

Everyone looked around, and Curufin shivered, dripped, and considered burying his face in his bag.

Finrod extricated himself from the crowd in the kitchen and made his way over, his face lighting up. “Curvo! I didn’t know you were coming!”

“I didn’t either,” muttered Curufin. “I just needed to retrieve a book from my brother.”

“But you must stay and celebrate with us! Have a drink, have something to eat, we can – ”

“Ingo,” said Aredhel out of the corner of her mouth. “The poor kid is soaked through. Take him back to Mae and Finno’s room and find some of Mae’s clothes for him to change into.” She appraised Curufin briefly. “Actually, Findekáno’s might be a better fit.”

“Oh, goodness, yes.” Finrod finally seemed to take in how wet Curufin was, and immediately looked repentant. He took Curufin gently by the arm, heedless of how Curufin dripped onto his shoes. “I’m so sorry, Curvo, I was being thoroughly unobservant. You must be freezing. Will you excuse us, Father?”

“Of course,” said Finarfin graciously, and then as another knock came, “And I believe that really _is_ the pizza. Do you think the delivery fellow will be able to break a hundred?”

Curufin went only with extreme reluctance into the bedroom, tracking water down the hallway as he went. He emerged a little while later having been cajoled into one of Fingon’s sweaters, looking thoroughly nettled despite Finrod’s hand on his low back and the way he was murmuring something into his ear.

“I just came to get a book,” he hissed, twitching as Finrod urged him down the hallway. “I had no intention of acquiring a _party_ , much less _this_ party. I do not have a _history_ of enjoying parties in this house.”

Finrod’s face fell. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, just say goodbye.” Curufin dragged at his collar. “To me. I’m out.”

“But,” said Finrod softly, “but I would so love to have you around, I haven’t seen you all week. And I’ve been meaning for you and my father to spend some time together…”

“Oh, we’ve already spent time together, and as he now has the measure of me as a short-tempered, foul-mouthed, and unprepossessing ‘drowned kitten’ – I am going to kill Irissë – I think I have been humiliated enough.” Curufin shoved his wet clothes into the plastic bag Finrod had given him and tried to smooth his damp hair. He only succeeded in slicking it straight back, which he knew from experience made him look like pictures he'd seen of his father in the '80s.

“You won’t be humiliated,” said Finrod, catching Curufin’s hands and pulling him to the side before they came into the living room so they stayed out of sight of the others for another minute. “I promise. I won’t force you to stay, but it would mean a lot if you hung around for...just a little while? My father really is incredibly kind and friendly; he won’t judge you for having to walk four blocks in the rain and being in a bad mood when you arrived, he’d just love to get to know you.”

He looked so pleading that Curufin rolled his eyes, defeated, and said, “ _Fine_ ,” and did not protest when Finrod pressed a grateful kiss to his cheek.

As they made their way into the living room, Aredhel caught Curufin’s eye and gave him an encouraging wink. She mouthed, _Check your phone_. As Finrod went to fetch Finarfin, Curufin glanced at his phone to see he had a new text from her.

_If you need an escape, just holler at me. I know from experience how to deflect Uncle Arfin if he’s getting too interested in every detail of your life._

Curufin edged through the crowd until he was near Aredhel. “Why are you being so nice to me?” he muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

Aredhel shrugged. “Because Tyelko isn’t here to rescue you, and I’m his proxy in these situations.”

“Oh, god.”

“Artanis will help too, if need be.”

_“Why?”_

“Because I care about my eldest brother’s partner being comfortable meeting our father,” said Galadriel, materializing on Curufin’s other side without warning. “I know how it can be, trust me. Teleporno had to go through the same thing, though he had to take on both Father and Mother at the same time, and I vowed to help prevent any future  _angoisse parentale_." Galadriel sipped box wine from a solo cup and sighed like a queen. "Also Irissë said she’d rat me out about getting fired if I don’t help.”

Aredhel laid a hand to her heart. “I _never_.”

"At least Mother isn't here to make what she thinks are encouraging comments about your hair," said Galadriel, with a haunted look. "I did  _tell_ Teleporno to leave the headband at home."

“Yes, I suppose it could be worse,” murmured Curufin, without conviction, and then very quickly, “Keep an eye on your phone, Irissë.”

“Curufinwë,” said Finarfin, descending on him through the parting crowd like a tall, argyle ship. “Findaráto has told me so much about you. Come, sit with me on this charming sofa - Findaráto, don't hover, go congratulate your uncle while I talk to your young man. So, Curufinwë, you have your father’s mind for machines, I hear. Tell me, will you be considering grad school?”

Curufin found himself pivoted to the couch, casting a slightly desperate look over his shoulder as Galadriel tucked Finrod's hand under her arm to hold him in place.

“Godspeed,” she said.

“He’ll be okay,” said Aredhel, thumbing her ringer to vibrate and pocketing her phone. As Finarfin leaned in to listen more intently to Curufin's answers, Aredhel located her second oldest brother. Turgon was looking at the kitchen table with the gravity of a surgeon. Aredhel poked at him inquiringly.

Turgon looked at her, his heavy brows drawn together, and asked, very seriously, “Why _shouldn’t_ we teach dad to play beer pong?” 

 

* * *

 

_What was Erasmus of the Netherlands known for, and what was his relation, if any, to the Brothers of the Common Life?_

Amras spun his pencil between his fingers and chewed his lip. He tapped the pencil against the paper a few times, then looked out the window for a while, where the rain was drumming down. He busied himself following the trajectory of a single raindrop down the pane for a while, watching as it met up with and collected others on its slide downwards, until it rolled out of sight below the windowsill. Amras sighed and looked back down at his practice test.

_What was Erasmus –_

He flipped through some of his notes dispiritedly, but his own handwriting was so bad that he couldn’t tell if a certain section was on Erasmus or the Holy Roman Empire. Deciding to skip the question, he moved on to the next.

_What thematic innovation –_

In the tank on the desk, the old snake stirred and woke, bumping his snub nose against the glass. Amras hunched down to stare at him, pressing his finger against the glass and watching as the snake flicked its tongue out to see if it could taste him through the tank walls.

Up on the top bunk, where he was hunched over his laptop, Amrod coughed, and Amras pulled his hand away from the snake tank. Propping his head on his hand, he looked down at the next question.

_What thematic innovation of the Renaissance artists does Michelangelo’s David best display?_

“Dick and balls,” he mumbled under his breath, and giggled softly.

“What?”

“Nothin’.” Amras sketched an absent stick figure on his practice text, then scribbled ‘anatomy that actually looked like anatomy, finally.’ He thought a moment, his pencil between his teeth, before adding, ‘and being mad gay. Lol @church.’ Then he crossed this out, added a tongue sticking out of his stick figure’s mouth, and sighed loudly.

“Shh,” said Amrod, from his perch. 

“I am doing my AP Euro practice test,” said Amras with dignity, “allow me a moment or two of audible existential angst.”

“Look who rolled under the table and came out with a vocabulary,” muttered Amrod. “I’ve been watching you: You’ve written one sentence in the past forty minutes.”

“Oh yeah? And while you were so busy watching _me_ , smartass, how was your own homework coming?”

“I finished it,” said Amrod loftily.

“How peachy keen for you, Perfecto Kid.” Amras swung his legs around. “But good, actually, that means you can give me the computer.”

“No.”

“No? Dude, homework gets priority, you know the rules! Do you want me to have to re-take Junior year? If you’re just stalking your crush on Instagram again, I don’t think Mom and Dad will view that as a reasonable priority over my schoolwork.”

“I am not stalking anyone,” said Amrod with dignity, though his cheeks had gone red under his freckles, “I’m working on a spread for the yearbook.”

“Homework still trumps nerd club. Gimme.”

“No.”

Amras threw his pencil at his twin, missing by a wide margin, and Amrod fired back with a pillow, which struck the corner of the desk.

“ _Careful_ , buttwipe, what if you’d hit El Diablo?”

“He’s totally safe in his tank, turdface. I’m not giving you the computer.” Amrod turned away and started typing loudly and pointedly. “Go use Mom’s.”

“Careful, Ambarussa,” said Amras, narrowing his eyes dramatically and affecting a low and dangerous voice as he got to his feet and headed out of the room. “I know where you sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Amrod, his eyes still on the screen. “Tell it to someone who cares.”

In a couple minutes Amras was back, Nerdanel’s Macbook tucked under his arm. He threw himself down in his chair and opened it, sighing loudly. “Why does she keep so many browser windows open at all times? God save us from their generation.”

Amrod made a disinterested noise.

“Hah, did you know she has a Pintrest? It’s like…ninety percent succulents and some – what! Naked dudes.”

“She’s a sculptor, Ambarussa,” murmured Amrod, not looking up.

“Oh, yeah. Right.” Amras minimized more windows and made to pull up his school email account. “Ugh, this is so annoying, you know she gets mad when we log her out of her email because she can never remember her password to log back in.”

“Just go to add an account.”

“Do you see the hoops you’re making me jump through, kid? Hang on, what’s this?” Amras blinked and brought his face closer to the computer. He was still adjusting to how sight in just one eye affected him when he tried to read screens. “Telvo…”

“Will you please be quiet for like, five seconds of your life?” Amrod blew his bangs out of his eyes. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you’re talking to me and being normalish again and all that, but that means that I’m allowed to tell you to shut up.”

“Telvo.”

“And stop using that voice, you don’t sound threatening at all, you sound constipated, and you should tell your theater friends to stop encouraging – ” Amrod broke off as Amras let out a sound like an outraged rooster. “What?”

“Come look at this email.”

 

* * *

 

Maedhros held his phone to his ear and covered his other ear with his free hand. “What? Pityo, slow down.” He looked up and waved at Fingon to turn the music down. “Say that again.” He listened, and his face slowly dropped into expressionlessness.

Curufin had extricated himself from conversation with Finarfin under the pretext of getting a drink and was hunkered down defensively at the counter now. As he carefully pushed aside a napkin with FINGOLFIN 2016 written on it, he looked up at the tone in Maedhros’ voice. “What is it, Nelyo?”

“The twins found something.” Maedhros pulled the phone away from his ear and hit speaker. “Pityo, repeat what you just told me.”

“I was on Mom’s computer and her email was open,” Amras’ voice came out tinnily, while in the background there sounded a fair amount of clatter.

“What’s the background noise?” Curufin interrupted.

“Telvo. He’s…he’s kind of throwing a hissy, and I don’t blame him.” Even through the weak phone speaker, Amras’ voice sounded angry. “Mom got an email from Irmo. Firing her.”

“What?” Curufin stared at Maedhros, who nodded, shortly.

“Yeah. And that’s not all. You guys really have to hear all the shit he said…”

“Send it to us,” said Curufin at once.

“I can’t, it’s in Mom’s email, she’ll see the ‘sent’ history.”

“Print it to here.” Curufin snapped his fingers at Maedhros. “You have a wireless printer, don’t you? We can get them to remote in.”

“To hell with that,” said Amras. “I’ll print it here and we’ll bring it over.”

“No, you won’t,” said Maedhros, grabbing the phone back. “You can’t drive yet, and anyway, Telvo only has his learner’s permit, he can’t drive anyone under 18.”

“Family doesn’t count,” said Amras, and hung up.

“That’s not – ” Maedhros stared at the phone in his hand as the line went dead, “ –true.”

But Curufin already had his own phone out and was composing a text. “I’ll get one of the others to pick them up, I think they should hear this too.”

“This sounds like it’s turning into a very dramatic party,” said Finarfin, coming up behind Curufin and making him jump. “Is this how they often go?”

“Often far worse,” muttered Curufin, shooting a sideways glance at him.

“Goodness. And I just learned that apparently my son is very talented at beer pong.” Finarfin sighed. “Or rather, game to volunteer as ‘team drinker’.”

“Lord,” said Curufin, his gaze traveling from Finarfin to Finrod, who was playing beer pong alongside Aredhel against Fingolfin and Turgon. Fingon was watching them as well, with the conflicted expression of an amused son wanting to take pictures, and a campaign manager wondering if he’d made a major miscalculation.

Currently, Finrod was in the process of elbowing Aredhel as she cheered loudly for her father. As a lull came in the noise, Finrod's voice carried easily, sounding pained but amused. “Irissë, stop encouraging him! I’m the one who has to drink every time he scores.”

Curufin, already exhausted from trying to explain his research interests to Finarfin without his usual impatience, pinched the bridge of his nose as Finarfin watched his son finish another solo cup of beer. “Yes, you should be very proud.”

“Listen, I’m texting Makalaurë if you’re not,” said Maedhros loudly, tapping his fingers on the countertop. “We need to get them over there to head them off before the Ambarussa decide to steal a car.”

“Is everything okay?” Fingolfin called from the makeshift beer pong table.

“Just some Fëanorion drama, apparently,” Finarfin called back, as Curufin sighed heavily.

“Typical,” said Fingolfin cheerfully, and made his shot, which went in. “Ooh, does this mean Findaráto drinks again?”

 

* * *

 

Forty-five minutes later, Celegorm, Maglor, and Caranthir arrived with the twins in tow, grand theft auto apparently averted. Soon the Fëanorions were all seated around Maedhros and Fingon’s living room as Curufin read the email from Irmo aloud. Fingon and Aredhel sorted recyclables in the kitchen while Finarfin talked quietly to his two children by the door. Fingolfin, meanwhile, was watching the council of seven with a certain amount of concern evident on his face.

After Curufin finished his reading, there was a ringing and ominous silence.

It was broken by Celegorm cracking his knuckles loudly. “Right,” he said, a dangerous smile on his face. “This means war.”

“Right,” said Fingolfin, and reached over the counter to pluck a beer bottle that had somehow ended up in Amras’ hands.

“Whoops,” said Amras. “Mistook that for a soda pop.”

"So," said Curufin, steepling his hands as he settled into his corner of the couch. "Where do we start?"

“I’m concerned about how this might impact Mom’s reputation,” said Maedhros, who was white-faced and tight-lipped, but who snagged Caranthir’s shirt as he leapt up. “Moryo – ”

“Where does he get his fucking nerve?” snapped Caranthir. “That limp-dick son of a bitch, how dare he talk to her like that?”

“I’m with Moryo,” said Celegorm, still looking murderous. “That shithead was _lucky_ to collaborate with her even once, and - ”

“And she did not one, but half a dozen shows for him,” said Curufin. His tone was grim, if somewhat undermined by the snowflake sweater of Fingon’s he was still wearing. “Some loyalty he’s showing to an artist who's brought in thousands to his pitiful gallery. Is it really too much for him to bear when for the first time in a decade and a half she doesn’t perform _exactly_ to his expectations?”

“How dare he have expectations,” snarled Caranthir, and kicked the coffee table. It lurched across the carpet with a complaining creak, and an empty cup toppled from its top. Caranthir kicked at it again, and Maedhros looked wearier than ever. 

“Knock it off, that’s mine,” he said. “Or rather, it’s Fingon’s and mine, and we’d appreciate it if you please don’t break it.”

“I’ll break whatever I- ”

“Sit down, Moryo,” said Maedhros, and Caranthir threw himself back down.

“The question is,” said Curufin, putting his fingers to his lips, “what now?”

“What do you mean, what now?” piped up Amrod. “Like, is Mom going to be okay?”

“Of course she’ll be okay, she and Father have plenty of money,” said Curufin dismissively. “This is a matter of _respect_.”

“She’ll get other jobs, surely,” said Maedhros. “She’s known as one of the best, this one small, petty person being an ass to her won’t erase that.”

“But it’s a pattern,” said Caranthir, furiously, still red-faced and only staying seated thanks to the grip Maedhros now had on the back of his shirt. “That whole damn _crew_ of them, you know who I’m talking about. Aulë breaking ties with Dad and the rest of them acting like he doesn’t exist – ”

“Súlimo and that fiction of a trial,” said Curufin tersely.

“That police chief,” said Amras quietly. “The one who arrested Dad.”

“Tulkas,” said Maedhros. “Yes, I remember.”

Celegorm fidgeted and looked at his hands.

“They’re the people who run practically everything around here, and they have it _out_ for our family, don’t tell me they don’t,” said Caranthir fiercely. “It’s not right. The way they treated Dad was bad enough, but they are _not_ allowed to shit on Mom too, not when she’s never done anything wrong.”

“I have to say,” said Curufin, looking at Caranthir. “That for once, I entirely agree with Moryo.”

Celegorm stood up, pacing restlessly. Finarfin had moved over to stand beside Fingolfin, and Finrod and Galadriel were watching the proceedings with matching, razor-blue stares.

Maedhros was starting to look uneasy. “All right,” he said, “I know it’s not okay, I know we’re angry and worried for Mom, but let’s not get carried away.”

“You can’t just want to sit there and do nothing.” Curufin stared at Maedhros, and Caranthir turned to stare him down too. In the silence that followed, the drumming of the rain on the roof seemed to swell, punctuated by the scratch of branches against the windows. 

“What do you want to do?” demanded Maedhros finally. “You’re talking like there is anything on earth we can do about this. What’s your plan?”

“We’re going to have a plan?” whispered Amras, his eyes wide and eager. Amrod had unconsciously wrapped his fingers into his twin's sleeve and was twisting it tighter and tighter until Amras nudged him. "Ouch, Ambarussa."

Curufin didn’t answer, but he shot a look across the room, trying to get Celegorm to meet his eyes. Celegorm didn’t look up.

“I think the answer is obvious,” said Maglor, speaking for the first time. He unfolded from the corner where he’d been propped up watching without saying a word, his eyes glittering as he listened to the conversation. Everyone looked at him, and behind them, Finarfin and Fingolfin each moved imperceptibly closer to the doors, as if preparing to have to block them.

“What?” Caranthir shifted forward on the couch, Maedhros' hand slipping from the back of his shirt, and Celegorm dragged his gaze away from the floor to stare curiously at his brother.

Maglor straightened up, untying the bandana tied around his hair as he did. He shook his hair free and then re-knotted the bandana carefully around his throat. His brothers watched him, waiting. The room was silent with the intensity of their focus, the rain pounding like a heartbeat on the roof, and Maedhros didn’t even notice when Amras reached over to steal a sip of his beer. 

“What do we do about it?” Maglor finished tying his bandana and raised his chin, his eyes still glittering.

There was a faint sound as everyone leaned forward even further, Amras dropping his stolen beer bottle in excitement.

Maglor spread his hands out before him and smiled. “We egg the shit out of Irmo’s gallery.”

In the kitchen, Fingolfin visibly relaxed as Finarfin exhaled softly beside him. 

“Why,” said Fingon, amused at his father’s elbow. “What were you expecting?”

 

* * *

 

When Anairë came by to pick up her husband, she was startled to see the stream of people leaving the apartment.

“Are those all of Fëanor and Nerdanel’s boys?” she asked, turning in the stairwell to look after them.

“Yes.”

“Surprising,” she said, handing Fingolfin his umbrella. “I wouldn’t have thought they’d all come over for your impromptu campaign party.”

“They didn’t.” Fingolfin shook his head as he followed her back down the stairs. “They were having a council of war.”

“Uh oh.”

“I know. Arfin and I were prepared to step in, but…” Fingolfin sighed. “I think nothing worse than a touch of light vandalism will come of it.”

“Vandalism? Council of war? Over what?”

“Findekáno has forbidden me to know anything about it,” said Fingolfin, smiling. “He said the last thing I need to kick off my campaign is being accessory to misdemeanor.”

“Good lord, Nolofinwë, what are they up to?”

“Don’t tell anyone,” said Fingolfin, in a stage whisper, “but – whoops, missed a step there – that beer was better than I thought – but they’re off to teach Irmo a lesson for a certain missive he sent to Nerdanel.”

Anairë stopped dead and Fingolfin walked into her. “That _hideous_ email where he patronized and belittled her and insulted her art?”

“Apparently. You know about it?”

“I got it out of Nerdanel at our last lunch.” Anairë started walking quickly down the sidewalk, the hood of her raincoat falling back and the rain starting to plaster her hair to her head. “Hey. Hey, boys! Wait up.”

“Anairë!” Fingolfin grabbed for her sleeve. “What are you doing?”

Anairë's shoes snapped against the pavement. “I read that email, it was _foul_. I can’t believe Nerdanel hasn’t gone over to spit in his eye.”

“But what are _you_ doing, are you going to try and stop them? They’re determined to egg the gallery, and they’re not likely to be dissuaded.”

“Who wants to dissuade them?” said Anairë, and she started jogging, waving to catch Maedhros’ attention.

“Wh – You can’t go with them, Anairë!”

“Maybe not,” said Anairë, “but I am going to buy them their damn eggs.” 


	79. Boy, we grew up bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens in Void County stays in Void County (in theory.)

The taproom at Blue Hills Brewery was almost entirely empty, the stools and benches put up on the wooden tables, the floors swept clean and still shining with mop water in places. There was a sign hung on the door reading ‘Speak, friend, and enter – LATER, we’re closed’, and the only light came from the wall-bracket above one table near the bar. At this table were two women, large flagons in front of them.

The taller of the two was sitting with her back propped against the wall, her long legs stretched out on the bench as she ran one hand repeatedly through her short, spiky hair and gestured expressively with the other. The other woman, of more solid build and with her long hair coiled into heavy braids at the back of her head, wore a tank top that was cut to reveal arms corded with muscle and collarbones adorned with an ink-black dragon. She was listening to her friend regale her with a look of amusement on her handsome face, and drinking deeply from her tankard.

“ – but I _finally_ convinced her that a cell phone picture was acceptable, and to at least take a look at the profile I had mocked up for her.”

Telchar laughed as Lalwen kicked her booted feet up in emphasis, and refreshed both their drinks from the growler sitting on the table between them. “What did she say then?”

Lalwen shook her head sorrowfully and took a drink. “She got that severe look on her face like she was going to quote Rilke at me and said, ‘Some of us are destined for but one great love.’ And I said, ‘Ma, both you and Dad had _two_ great loves, don't give me that b.s.,’ and she said, ‘Exactly, two is already more than my fair share, and don’t use Language on me.’ " Lalwen sighed. "And that was the end of me trying to get my widowed, nearly eighty-year-old mother on match.com.”

“Shame,” said Telchar. “She might have met my great-uncle Durin on there. They could have gone out for expensive aperitifs and argued about which retirement community is better, Taniquetil or Mirrowmere.”

Lalwen closed her eyes briefly to picture this, then opened them, grinning. “How’d you get Durin onto online dating?”

“He did it himself; he thought it was Facebook.” Telchar sighed. “The man could weld the underlying structure of an entire city with his eyes closed, but attempting to navigate social media might as well be trying to paddle the proverbial creek without a paddle.”

“Speaking of which, my older brother has been trying to get himself fluent in social media for his campaign, and from what his wife tells me, there has already been a blunder or two involving the misinterpretation of emoticons. I tried to tell him that this is why one gets millennial interns, but he’s determined to do it himself. He – Hang on a moment, Telchar.” Lalwen frowned as her phone rang. She looked at it and her forehead creased.  “Care to take a guess as to why the Void County Sheriff’s office is calling me?" She looked back up, resigned. "Is that a stupid question?”

 

* * *

 

There was a bucket in the corner. After first trying to pretend it wasn't there, there had been brief speculation on what else it might be there for, and even that no, it couldn’t be simply a bucket, it had to be…something else. Surely.

But after two hours, they could no longer pretend otherwise. It was, indeed, a bucket. 

They all watched it warily, and Amrod wriggled a little uncomfortably.

“All I can say is,” said Curufin, breaking the silence, “thank god I keep myself perpetually dehydrated.”

“It’s not the results of hydration I’m worried about,” whispered Amrod, looking apprehensive, and Amras snickered. He’d been having silent eruptions of laughter for the past hour, to the great annoyance of certain of his older brothers.

“I _told_ you this was a bad idea,” hissed Maedhros, craning around on the hard metal bench to glare at Maglor, who just slumped lower in his seat and tried to pull his bandana over his face. Maedhros reached over to swat his hand away from his face. “Stop doing that, you don’t need to look like even more of a delinquent than you already are.”

“Oh, shut up, Nelyo,” said Celegorm lazily, who had his arms crossed comfortably over his chest as he reclined on the bench. “You don’t know how to properly enjoy an adventure.”

“An adventure?” Maedhros spread his arms wide in disbelief. “We are in _jail_ , Tyelko.”

Celegorm shrugged. “Time for you get prison buff, then. Get on the floor, do a push up.”

“I would advise against that,” said Curufin. He was folded as tightly as he could onto the bench, arms and legs crossed so as to keep as much of him as possible from touching any part of the cell, but looked otherwise unrepentant. “God only knows what effluvia has been spilled on this floor.” He looked meaningfully towards the bucket once more, and flicked a bit of egg yolk out of his hair.

“I can’t believe you are taking this so calmly,” muttered Maedhros, whose own hair was snarled and whose eyes looked a bit wild. “Maybe it’s because you know that whatever happens, _you_ won’t be held responsible.”

“It is because I regret nothing,” said Curufin loftily.

“I have regrets,” said Caranthir, who was tilted slightly to the left as Amras tried to get comfortable against his shoulder. “I regret that we used eggs and not _rocks_.” He smiled viciously and Curufin made a low noise of reproach. Caranthir narrowed his eyes at him. “What, you disagree?”

“No,” said Curufin, wincing but allowing Amrod to slump against his own shoulder. “It is simply that you should keep your voice down, lest they be collecting evidence to charge us with even worse intent.”

Celegorm yawned. “You know they don’t need any more evidence than what they have and whose sons we are. Just suck it up and get ready for the green mile.”

"Stop referencing prison movies already. This isn't Shawshank."

“ _Oh, mama_ ,” sang Maglor softly, ignoring the withering look Maedhros was shooting him, “ _I'm in fear for my life from the long arm of the law…”_

"Not you, too!"

Celegorm chuckled and joined in. _“_ _Lawman has put an end to my running and I'm so far from my home…”_

“I’d be happier if we were farther from home, actually,” said Curufin. “This is still in range of the paper that Father takes. Do you think – ”

He broke off and all seven of them jumped as there was a jangle from the front of the cell, and they looked up to see a deputy leaning on the door. “Look lively,” she said. “Your ride is here.”

 

* * *

 

Lalwen’s boots rang clearly against the linoleum of the hallways. Her spiky hair was fully at attention, and her grey eyes were very stern in a way guaranteed to make the sons of Fëanor twitchy. She stopped in front of the holding cell and for a full minute was entirely silent, her lips pursed.

One of the cell’s occupants twitched, and someone whispered, “If she doesn’t talk soon, I’m gonna need to use the bucket.”

“Would you rather I called our parents?”

"Everyone hush." Lalwen ran a hand over her face. “I swear I’ve had this nightmare.”

Six and a half pairs of eyes gazed apprehensively at her.

Lalwen dropped her hand from her face and stared at the ceiling. She appeared to be counting, but there was a distinct tension to her lips, like she was carefully holding back an impulse.

“Aunt Lalwen,” Maedhros began finally, apparently unable to resist the ground-in instinct to act as representative for their hapless cabal. "I can explain."

Lalwen raised a finger. The Sheriff’s deputy had settled against the wall to wait, utterly unhurried. "I said hush."

“I told you she would have that look,” muttered Curufin, jostling Amrod to free his shoulder.

“Aunt Lalwen,” Maedhros tried again, not quite standing fully upright to avoid looming over her and falling back into an apologetic crouch instead. It made him look like a nervous heron. “I know you must be upset – ”

“I must be,” said Lalwen, to the ceiling. “Yes, that must be what I am. Goodness, I am having such difficulties right now. Because yes, I am going to _rip you apart_ , Maitimo.” Her voice was severe, but the sense of something barely repressed behind the severity was as clear there as in the twitch of her lips. “But first...” She put a hand on her hip and looked at them through the bars. They all flinched back as she reached for her pocket. “Bunch together, reprobates.”

Maedhros blinked. “What?”

“I am going to take a picture of this.”

“Lord,” said Curufin, and immediately descended into the collar of his shirt.

Lalwen pulled out her phone and snapped a photo while Maedhros still had his mouth open in protest. “This beauty will somewhat make up for that unpleasantly sobering phone call, the ruination of my night off, and the fact of that bucket in the corner. I will need a good laugh later, and with it, I shall be able to _blackmail you for the rest of your lives_.” She examined the picture critically. “Impressively fast shirt removal, Tyelkormo.”

“The police record is going to eliminate the need for blackmail,” said Curufin, immerging from his collar with the air of one who had given great thought to the dire consequences he faced, and resigned himself to them. “Already we will have a permanent black mark against us.” He drew himself up like a French aristocrat facing the guillotine.

“Oh, it’s going to be an inch of the police blotter and a citation, I dealt with it,” said Lalwen, waving a hand dismissively as the deputy unlocked the cell and swung the door open. “You _knuckleheads._ Get out of there, little ones first.”

Looking both relieved and vaguely disappointed, Curufin nudged Amrod and Amras towards the door.

Lalwen grabbed the twins as they filed out sheepishly, and tucked one under each arm. “Are you two okay?”

“Yes,” said Amrod. “But I need to pee.”

“Best night I’ve had in ages,” said Amras cheerfully, his long bangs falling against the scars still covering the right side of his face before he flicked his hair out of his eyes.

Lalwen ruffled up Amrod’s hair and kissed Amras’ ear and then rounded on their brothers. “You let your underage little brothers get arrested? I am going to kick your asses into next week.”

“The arrest was bullshit,” Caranthir protested. “It was just a few eggs! We didn’t even break anything.”

“Irmo can pass it off as installation art,” said Maglor, rolling his eyes. “ _The Consequences of Condescension, a study in Yolk._ ”

"It was Makalaurë's idea," Amrod piped up helpfully.

Lalwen muttered something as they filed towards the front door. Curufin was already buried in his reclaimed cell phone and Maedhros was trying to comb his hair back into a tidy ponytail again, but had only managed to transition from nervous heron to beleaguered soccer mom.

“What was that?” Celegorm, who had been grinning the whole time, nudged his aunt in the ribs.

“I said, I can’t _believe_ you didn’t invite me,” said Lalwen, and then, more loudly, “Telchar’s got us an Uber out front, and we requested party-size to fit the entire criminal gang.” Caranthir, who had been looking unconcerned, suddenly froze, blushing furiously.

“Why is Telchar here?”

“That’s who I was with when I got Maitimo’s phone call,” said Lalwen. “You should just be glad I decided against picking up Haleth on the way.”

Celegorm prodded Caranthir in the low back to get him moving again, and Lalwen clicked her fingers to chivvy them along. “Your task for the ride home is to start thinking up a good story for your parents.”

"Two potential excuses," said Curufin, emerging from his phone as Caranthir attempted a careless swagger. "We can claim we were at Fingolfin's campaign party, or we can claim that we were, say, trying to buy crack for the Ambarussa." He paused. "Personally, I think the latter will upset Father less."

 

* * *

 

Haleth clung to the gym’s rock wall, her fingers slipping briefly on her grip before she swung herself nimbly over the lip above her, and tucked her toes into two nooks. She stood up easily, fingers questing for her next hold, and beneath her, on belay, Lalwen adjusted the amount of rope she had let out.

It was rare that the times Haleth had off to come to the gym actually coincided with breaks in Lalwen’s schedule, but today, as it happened, Lalwen had had a lesson cancellation.

Two of them, in fact.

“Tell me again why you have a full two hours free?” Haleth released one hand to reach into the pouch at her waist and re-chalk her fingers. “No-shows?”

Lalwen chuckled, bracing herself more comfortably against the harness. “No, they showed all right. They’re just passed out in my office instead of doing their usual free-climb and lesson combo.”

Haleth frowned, feeling her way along a crack with one toe. “Is that, like, a service you offer? Naps?”

“Only for wayward incarcerated nephews.” Lalwen tightened the slack on the rope as Haleth crouched and made her way along an angle. “Seeing as the Ambarussa were up until past midnight last night, but couldn’t tell their parents _why_ , I allowed them to pretend like everything was normal and then catch up on the sleep the prison system robbed them of instead of their usual lesson.”

Haleth looked down over her shoulder, arching an eyebrow. “I am still _so mad at_ _you_ for not including me.”

“I wanted to call you,” protested Lalwen, “but I had to hurry! Also, I was a little buzzed and it was all I could do to coordinate being my usual gentlemanly self for the sheriff’s office, much less pick up my girlfriend so she could laugh at her friend and his brothers in a drunk tank.”

“Was it really a drunk tank?”

“I think they have just the one holding cell, honestly. Not much goes on in that part of town. But I should have known, really, that someday I’d end up picking up those seven from the Void County Sheriff’s Department. Figures.”

Haleth made a grab for a hold just out of reach and missed it. She cursed as she scrabbled futilely a second, then hung resignedly in the air by her harness as Lalwen laughed and leaned back into her own harness, keeping Haleth from falling. “Ready to rejoin me on solid ground?”

Haleth nodded, still rotating gently in midair, and Lalwen began to let out the rope from her harness, allowing Haleth to rappel down. She reached the ground, and Lalwen immediately reached out to hook her fingers into Haleth’s harness and pull her close. She tilted Haleth’s chin up to undo her helmet, and after she dropped the helmet to the ground, she didn’t let go of Haleth’s chin.

Haleth gazed up at her. “Hey girl.”

“Hey,” said Lalwen, brushing her thumb over Haleth’s lower lip. “So I’ve still got a free hour left…”

“Too bad your office is full of sleeping teens,” said Haleth, glancing over Lalwen’s shoulder to see if there was anyone watching them, and tucking her fingers into Lalwen’s waistband.

Lalwen chuckled. “We didn’t need my office the first time we ‘got to know each other’…”

“Right.” Haleth’s eyes lit up. “Broom closet it is.”

 

* * *

 

There was a patina of rain on the grass, but the sky was clearing, the clouds burning off into a pale grey that made pedestrians squint, despite the fact that the sun was still not quite out. Worms littered the sidewalk, and fat-chested robins hopped over the ground, eyes gleaming. Two pairs of shoes splashed unconcernedly through the puddles, sending water and worms flying, and a chubby robin took flight, looking affronted.

“When I was in prison – ”

“You weren’t in prison.”

“When I was in _prison_ , I had some time to do some thinking…”

“You were in a holding cell for two hours with six other people. What did you think about? Your brothers’ b.o.?”

Celegorm scowled at Mablung. “Look, Lungumá, I’m being friendly to you because we gotta see each other every day, but I can go back to punching you in the head whenever you’re ready.”

Mablung shrugged, unfazed. “I’m shaking in my boots, Fëanorion. Anyway, what were you thinking about? Novel activity for you.”

Celegorm exhaled sharply through his nose. “I’ll mention the head punching option once more as a warning, but next time you sass me I’m just going to do it. _Anyway_. I was thinking it was pretty interesting that the Turambar kid nearly killed Beleg and didn’t get any time for it, given that for _my_ trivial crimes, I served – ”

“You didn’t serve shit, Celegorm, your family connections got you out of there with less than a slap on the wrist. Does your daddy even know you got busted?”

“Bitch, what did I say about sass?” Celegorm swung a fist at Mablung, who was ready for it, and dodged with a mocking laugh. Celegorm snarled at him without much feeling for a block or so. Mablung whistled carelessly, his hands in his pockets as he walked just out of arm’s reach, one eye on Celegorm.

“Personally,” said Mablung after a few minutes, like they’d never been interrupted. “I am sick of talking about Túrin Neithan Deathstick Turambar, but,” he pointed to a group of people milling about in the center of the park, “you can always ask him about his legal shenanigans yourself.”

Celegorm turned, stepping off the sidewalk and kicking his feet solidly into the earth. The turf was soft and muddy, but Celegorm took a great, happy exhale as the familiar smell of grass, sweat, and mud hit his nostrils. A bright-haired figure waved at them from across the field, and they nodded in response.

Glorfindel jogged over to greet them with handshakes and a cheerful grin. “I think we’ll finally have enough for two sides now. Thanks for coming!”

“Sure,” said Mablung, looking around. “It’ll be good to get out on the pitch again, I don’t think I’ve played since graduation.”

“Hah.” Celegorm snorted. “You’re gonna hurt today, bro.”

“Have you kept playing, then?” Glorfindel asked Celegorm brightly. “With a league, or – ?”

Celegorm appeared not to hear him. “Who else is here?”

Glorfindel looked at the assembled rugby players milling about the field. “A bunch of alums, some current players, Ecthelion, because I made him promise to try it...” His voice dropped conspiratorially. “Honestly, I think a lot of people turned up to see if Túrin was really going to be here – ”

It was Mablung’s turn to snort.

“ – but he’s not talking to anyone.”

“Is he going to play for the team again?” Celegorm was watching a certain tense, dark-haired figure with narrowed eyes. “Is he even going back to school?”

Glorfindel shrugged. “I don’t know, I didn’t ask. I think he appreciates keeping questions to the minimum. But it seems like he wants to keep playing someway or another, and man, if anyone could go pro, it’s him.”

“That’s what they say,” said Mablung, and grinned snidely at Celegorm. “I heard that Coach called him even better than you.”

“I don’t think he put it like that,” said Glorfindel quickly. “I think he said, technically, that – ”

“Doesn’t matter,” said Celegorm loudly, rolling out his shoulders. “We’ve never seen the two of us on the same pitch, have we? We can settle this for all those who might be interested.” He stomped off, and Glorfindel glanced over as Mablung started chuckling to himself.

“I’m glad there’s something ol’ Deathstick Turambar is good for,” said Mablung, in answer to his unasked question. “Putting Fëanorion’s ass in its place.” His grin turned from spiteful to genuine as he continued to scan the crowd for one face in particular. “You got Beleg to come.”

“It wasn’t me,” said Glorfindel quietly. “I didn’t text him because I figured an invite would be unkind, knowing he’s still in recovery and unable to play, but he showed up with Túrin anyway.”

Beleg was sitting on a park bench, watching everyone. He looked slightly faded, as if his ordeal had somehow diluted the color in his hair and skin and the brightness of his eyes, but his smile was true as Mablung sat down next to him and patted him companionably on the knee. “Good to see you out and about, buddy.”

“Yes,” agreed Beleg, and covered Mablung’s hand with his own for a moment before socking him genially in the shoulder. “Good to have the old crowd back together. Have you heard about the new coach?”

 

* * *

 

Oromë had music playing from the small record player he kept in the bedroom, and therefore didn’t notice Celegorm drag himself through the house until he staggered through the bedroom door, swaying dramatically against the doorframe.

Oromë looked up. “Hey. Did I know you were coming over?”

Celegorm didn’t answer, but peeled himself off the doorframe and collapsed down on the bed next to the pile of laundry Oromë was sorting.

“I am in such pain,” he moaned, and rolled onto his back, scattering the already folded clothes.

Oromë looked grimly at the wreckage of his laundry. “Why’s that?”

“I played a pickup game of rugby today,” said Celegorm, reaching under himself with a grimace and tossing a bunched up shirt aside so he could lie flat. “For the first time since senior year.”

“Really?” Oromë abandoned the clothes as a lost cause, and stretched out next to Celegorm. “Really the first time since–”

“Playoffs, Fall 2013. Yeah.”

For a moment, painful memory flickered behind Oromë’s eyes, but then he grinned, dispelling it before Celegorm could comment further. “No wonder you hurt,” he said, and laid a hand against Celegorm’s shirt, which was stuck to his skin with sweat. “Out of shape, huh?”

“How dare you? I am not out of shape.” Celegorm sat up with some difficulty and lifted his shirt to reveal his taut stomach as he flexed. “Check out this washboard, check out these guns, check – OW, _motherfucker_.” Oromë had lightly pressed his fingertips into Celegorm’s stomach, and Celegorm flinched back, cursing.

“I bet your sides hurt too,” said Oromë, following him mercilessly, laying his hands over Celegorm’s waist and squeezing. Celegorm yelped. “And your hamstrings. And your quads.” He ran his hands down to Celegorm’s thighs and then slipped around them to squeeze teasingly at his buttocks. “And your glutes.” He laughed, dropping down to the bed as Celegorm kicked at him.

“Yes, fine, it all hurts, stop torturing me.” Celegorm rolled onto his side with difficulty and then straddled Oromë’s waist instead, holding him in place. He tossed his head and tightened his thighs around Oromë's waist, as if to prove his fitness. “Sorry I’m not up to your fighting specs, Coach.”

“Just a matter of professional pride,” said Oromë mildly, leaving Celegorm’s shirt pushed up so he could run his fingers over Celegorm’s stomach.

“I’m _not_ out of shape.”

“Just because you can lift some things over your head and run a mile without throwing up doesn’t mean you’re in shape for rugby.”

Celegorm made a face at him. “Give me time.”

“How ‘bout I give you workouts?” said Oromë, and laughed as Celegorm groaned and rolled off him.

“Jesus, who thought it would be a good idea to date my rugby coach?”

“No one,” said Oromë, following him down to the mattress and kissing him. “Literally no one thought it was a good idea, darlin’.”

Celegorm waited until Oromë had pulled his clothes off and was deeply immersed in ravaging his throat before he said, “So you think the Turambar kid is better than me, do you?”

 

* * *

 

In a neighborhood of usually sedate, well-tended Formenos lawns, one backyard had always been a standout. There was of course the matter of the two story workshop, whence came the frequent sounds of grinding gears and the occasional controlled explosion. There was the studio attached to the back of the house, with its long windows and the frozen figures often poised in them, sometimes draped with sheets so that it looked like a gallery of ghosts. Throughout the past thirty years, there had been a near constant stream of activity in the yard itself; children and then teenagers waging small wars from the elaborate treehouse in the old willow; swinging from branches; flying kites from the studio roof; and occasionally, from the sound of it, attempting to murder each other. In recent years, some of the activity had died down, but the workshop and studio remained active, and the treehouse was now more likely to be occupied by two lanky, redheaded teens, who would nap on its aging boards, sneak the occasional cigarette, and subsequently explode in occasional coughing fits.

Today, even for this particular Formenos backyard, there was an unusual amount of movement and disruption as a transformation took place. The veiled, elegant statues usually framed in the studio windows had been de-shrouded, hauled outside, and placed around the yard. Some were carefully set, their arms still reaching to beseech the sky, or gesturing at an unseen image; others had been treated with less care, tipped on their sides or flat on their backs, their blank eyes staring placidly skyward.

Six people busied themselves on the back deck, arranging items with great care, while another two paced the perimeter of the yard with hoses, carefully wetting down the grass.

Nerdanel balanced her SLR on her hip and surveyed the tableau before her. “I think we’re ready,” she said, after a while.

“Are you sure about this?” Maglor jogged down the porch steps and rested his hand on her shoulder, giving her the concerned look of one artist to another. “These were your great works.”

“You are my great works,” she said fondly. “Actually, I’m kidding, you just sort of happened. But yes, I loved these pieces, and I profited from them, but I will make other great works. In the meantime, I am ready to exorcise the ghosts of these ones before I do.” She raised her camera. “If I created you knowing one thing, it was your capacity for destruction. Go forth.”

With a certain cautious reverence, turning to zeal, her sons returned to the deck, where the items of destruction were gathered. They reached down, hands finding various tools. Matches flared. Wooden handles were gripped. Seven pairs of feet thudded down the steps; seven shadows fell across the lawn.

Nerdanel began to shoot.

_Click_

A black and white frame of Caranthir, his face tight with concentration, and his eyes narrowed, the lean muscles in his arms standing out as he swung a baseball bat into a plaster face.

_Click_

Celegorm, laughing as he whirled a sledgehammer behind his head, the object of his joyful violence in pieces at his feet.

_Click_

Amras, in black and white, his young face lit with curiosity and feverish interest as flames rose before him, his arms just beginning to stretch out wide as if to embrace the carving he had doused in kerosene.

_Click_

Amrod, standing just behind his twin and watching him with only half an eye to the smoldering coals at his own feet.

_Click_

Maedhros, his handsome face cut as perfectly as any statue, the light of his eyes mirrored in the light glinting off the axe blade raised above his head.

_Click_

Curufin, a triumphant smile on his lips and his sleeves rolled up, his collar unbuttoned, uncharacteristic looseness in his body as he threw paint over the alabaster body of a prone and faceless statue.

_Click_

Maglor, tears running down his face, carefully breaking a porcelain figure into pieces.

_Click_

“Do you not want to be in any of the pictures yourself?” said Fëanor quietly at Nerdanel’s shoulder, as she crouched and shot and moved around the yard.

“I am already in them.”

_Click_

Soon there was just one statue left; one of the dancing sylph of the Four Elements exhibit she had displayed two autumns previous at Irmo’s gallery. The seven sons of Nerdanel gathered before it, breathing hard, their skin shining with sweat and paint and plaster dust.

_Click_

“Do you want to take this one, Mama?” asked Maedhros softly.

“No,” said Nerdanel, as she set down her camera to retrieve something from the steps. “But I _do_ have a destruction medium request.”

She turned around, and they all stared at the carton of eggs in her hand.

“Did Anairë tell you,” began Caranthir, and Nerdanel laughed, a ringing, riotous sound.

“Sweet devil hoptoads of my loins, as soon as I saw on Twitter that Irmo’s gallery had been egged – ”

“Twitter,” said Curufin bitterly, “I knew getting it out of the police blotter wouldn’t be enough.”

“ – I knew who was responsible. Also, I knew that Curvo would never willingly go to Fingolfin's campaign party, so that had to be a lie.”

"Funny story actually," began Curufin, but fell silent as Fëanor crossed the yard to stand behind Nerdanel, watching her as intently as her sons.

"Anyway. It is only fitting." Nerdanel smiled, and held out the eggs. They each took one. Behind her, Fëanor snatched up the camera.

Nerdanel, poised before her doomed art, holding out the carton. Seven hands outstretched to her, seven hands cradling seven smooth shells.

Seven young arms tensed, bent; seven hands released. 

Nerdanel, ducking and laughing, her hair coming loose from the bandana with which she had bound it back. Nerdanel, raising her arms in victory against the tableau of splattered yolk and broken shell. Nerdanel, surrounded by her seven cheering sons, their faces streaked with ash. Her art destroyed; or at least transformed. 

_Click_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Sorry about the [Styx](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KOQ4pkUAFbA), I couldn't help myself.
> 
> 1\. Hey guys, after this chapter I might need a bit of a rest from dwmp. I really am saying ‘might,’ because my experience with myself is that I’ll say ‘AUGH I NEED A BREAK don’t expect much from me’ and then in like two days I’ll be teeming with ideas. But work and life have been pretty overwhelming lately, and I’m feeling like I am scraping the bottom of the barrel trying to get updates every two weeks. 
> 
> I still want the option to update, and I don’t think I’m done having ideas, but I’m a little tapped out and interested in giving other fics the time they deserve. Lately, trying to keep dwmp trucking has been taking up more of my time and energy than I’d like, and it sometimes comes at the expense of other fic I want to write! So. I promise as soon as I get inspired, I’ll update. I may post stand-alone dwmp fics. I’m definitely going to be posting other Silm fics. But don’t count on regular dwmp updates, because I need to recharge on this puppy.
> 
> This is the risk of an unbounded multichapter wip written without a plan, eh? We never actually know when it is supposed to end, and I don’t always know where it’s going! Thanks for bearing with me; I love and appreciate you guys <3 
> 
> (And I love this AU! Not ready to leave yet.)


	80. Lost is my heart, but my new soul stays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On to the next stories…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. People from Tumblr will recognize the opening to this chapter. Many thanks to the anon who sent me the prompt! Thanks also to emilyenrose, for her diligent and thorough excavation of all my Fingon and Maedhros feelings.  
> 1\. I know I joked I would never finish DWMP, but unlike certain Elves, I swore no oaths as to the fact. And so here we are.

**_Tirion_ **

“I’m nervous. Why am I so nervous?”

“Everyone gets nervous before dinner with their in-laws,” said Fingon soothingly, his hand on Maedhros’ waist. “I mean, I assume. The only reason I don’t get nervous with your parents is because they have never invited me over for dinner.”

“But they’re not really my in-laws,” said Maedhros, fiddling fretfully with the bow on the bottle of wine he was holding. “The ‘in-law’ part would require us being, you know, married. In the eyes of the law.”

“I can change that real fast if you’d like,” said Fingon, grinning and making to go down on one knee.

Maedhros grabbed him. “No!”

“Wow, ouch,” said Fingon, but he was still looking amused as he straightened up. “Everything they say about Fëanorions and cold feet is true.”

“Oh, stop,” said Maedhros. “It’s not that, but if you proposed to me while kneeling in dogshit on the sidewalk in front of your parents’ house – ”

“It would just be emblematic of what I put myself through for you,” said Fingon cheerfully, and then caught sight of Maedhros’ face. “Just kidding.”

“Anyway,” said Maedhros, trying to move on from the proposal issue as if it was only to do with his own discomfort, “your parents aren’t my in-laws. They’re my aunt and uncle.”

“Yikes,” said Fingon. “Would you believe I sometimes forget that?”

“My dad doesn’t let me forget it,” said Maedhros gloomily. “I know he’s ‘trying’ and all, but it’s amazing how he never forgets the ‘half’ part unless he’s talking about ‘Nelyafinwë’s cousin - sorry, _boyfriend_.’”

“Charming man, your father. No wonder it’s taken you nearly two years after moving in to come have dinner with my folks.”

“God, really that long? That makes me sound terrible.”

“You are terrible.” Fingon shook his head sorrowfully. “I only put up with it for the d– ” He clamped his lips shut as Maedhros turned a beleaguered face upon him, and instead gestured Maedhros chivalrously up the sidewalk towards Fingolfin and Anairë’s house.

Maedhros dragged his feet as Fingon turned up the walk to the front door. He was clutching the wine bottle in front of him now, his sweaty hands making the bow go limp. “But listen, what if they’re still mad at me for what happened your junior year? I always thought maybe your dad would have preferred if you’d ended up with that Glamdring guy or whatever his name was – ”

“Gelmir.”

“And what if they’re still mad at me because of the Alqualondë settlement? What if they’re mad it took me this long to come visit? What if they’re still mad at me because I’m related to my dad?” His sweaty fingers squeaked on the wine bottle. “You know, I could see about getting my last name changed. I’ve considered it before.”

Fingon rolled his eyes and walked back a few paces to retrieve him. He hooked his arm through Maedhros’ and tugged him up the steps. “Slow your roll, Fëanorion. My parents are just glad we’re living in sin together now rather than me living in sin in your brothers’ house five nights a week.”

Maedhros relaxed slightly as Fingon bumped reassuringly against his side and he let himself be pulled towards the house. They paused on the front steps, and Maedhros looked down at Fingon. “You liked sinning in that house,” he said, brushing a finger under Fingon’s chin to lift his face.

“I did,” said Fingon, and there was a glint in his eyes that made Maedhros want, suddenly, to retreat into the hedge with him and sin some more. “But sinning in a queen sized bed gives my creativity so much more scope, you know?”

There was a cough from the other side of the door, and the outside light flickered, like someone was leaning on the switch. “Can I ask you two to ring the doorbell and come in already?” said a slightly muffled voice from within.

Maedhros flushed to his hairline, and dropped the wine bottle.

Fingon caught it before it hit the ground, and rang the doorbell just as the door swung open. “Hey, Dad,” he said cheerfully. “Can I introduce you to my live-in cousin, Maitimo?”

 

* * *

 

**_Blue Hills Distillery_ **

Azaghâl knocked on the door of Telchar’s office and then pushed his way in without waiting for an answer. He had his nose buried in a sheaf of papers and sat down in the extra chair in front of Telchar’s desk without looking up from them.

“Can I help you?” asked Telchar drily, after a minute.

“Have you seen these numbers?” Azaghâl looked up and waved the top sheet of paper.

“What’s that? Oh, the report Caranthir prepared.” Telchar shifted and tapped her fingers absently on her desk. “Yes, I have seen it.”

“That kid is worth his weight in gold. Literally every project he recommended we pursue has paid dividends, sometimes _double_ what you and I predicted. Either he’s a genius or he’s that good luck charm we’ve been looking for.”

Telchar raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Something like that.”

Azaghâl shook his head and returned his attention to the report, shuffling through the dog-eared pages. “Whichever it is – hell, if it’s both – we can’t let him get away. I don’t care what we have to pay him, we need him on the team. He’s invaluable.”

“Don’t let him hear that,” said Telchar. “He’ll hold us hostage for a fortune if he knows we need him too bad, when really we should pay him less since he’s young, green, and not even a CPA yet – ” She broke off with a muffled curse and jumped like some unseen insect had bitten her.

“Whatever it is,” said Azaghâl vaguely, eyes riveted to the accounts, “we should pay it. We’re very close to being out of debt, which is _insane_. Let’s hire him before someone else does.”

“Go for it,” said Telchar, but she was looking suddenly twitchy and not looking at Azaghâl. “I leave his hiring in your capable hands. Was there anything else? It’s just that I’m a very important and busy person with things to do...”

“Sure, sure.” Azaghâl shook his head one last time in grudging admiration, stroked his beard, and got back up. “The new hops are in, by the way. I’m going to go supervise unloading. You want to help me with – ”

“I’ll join you when I finish a couple things.”

Azaghâl nodded and left, still stroking his beard and looking happy.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, Telchar pushed back from her desk with a long exhale. “You little bastard.”

Caranthir clambered out from under the desk and straightened up. He was flushed but there was a smug glint in his eyes as he buttoned up his pants. “ ‘Invaluable,’ I think he said. ‘Genius,’ too. I think genius is worth a 15% bump in options, don’t you?”

“Little prick,” muttered Telchar, smoothing her hair. “That was the worst goddamn thing for you to overhear.”

“Little prick?” Caranthir smirked at her. “There was nothing _little_ about it 20 minutes ago when you were on the desk and I was – ”

“Sex and money make you unbearably cocky,” growled Telchar, but she was grinning too as she opened her filing drawer and got out the shirt she’d hastily stuffed in there. “I’d cut you off from both if I didn’t enjoy the results so much.”

“Highly unethical,” said Caranthir, lounging against the corner of the desk and pulling the shirt from her hands and over his head. “The person in charge of my paycheck shouldn’t also be the person in charge of, well –”

“Other transactions? And why do you think I’m going to have Azaghâl handle your hiring negotiations and remove myself from any direct supervisory position?” She pointed a finger at him. “Don’t you get any ideas about seducing Azaghâl to improve your offer.”

“He’s not my type.”  Caranthir folded his arms. “But I’m not going to forget that you were going to screw me out of a salary bump just because I’m not certified yet.”

“Yeah, and I’m not going to forget that you jabbed me like that just because of an innocent and _completely_ unserious comment I made to my cousin in ostensible private.” Telchar winced and rubbed her inner thigh.

Caranthir curled his lip, but his dark eyes glinted. “Salary negotiations are nothing to joke about.” He bent down for his belt, but Telchar stopped him, her foot coming up to plant gently against his chest.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Picking up my shit. I thought you had to go supervise hops or whatever.”

“I told Azaghâl I had something to finish first,” said Telchar softly, and Caranthir flushed anew at the gleam in her eyes. “We have to celebrate your impending job offer, don’t we?”

“Yeah,” said Caranthir, and began unbuttoning his pants again. “Yeah, that’s true. Get on the desk, won’t you?”

 

* * *

 

**_Tirion again_ **

Despite Maedhros’ secret conviction that Fingolfin and Anairë would poison his portion of the roast, the dinner went well.

The wine helped.

In fact, one dinner at Fingolfin and Anairë’s turned into another, a week later. That dinner turned into staying for the weekend, as Fingolfin and Fingon talked campaign strategy for hours in Fingolfin’s study, and Anairë and Maedhros drank coffee on the screen porch and debated charter schools.

“Sorry sorry sorry,” said Fingon, finally extricating himself from Fingolfin’s war room and coming over to perch on Maedhros’ deck chair with him. “I know I promised to actually take some time off while we were here. Is that coffee still any good?”

“Depends,” said Maedhros, watching Fingon take a sip. “The coffee is still warm, but it’s over here.” He lifted the mug in his hand. “I’m pretty sure that’s the cup your mom put under the hole in the roof to catch drips.”

Anairë drew her feet up as Fingon spat dirty water onto the floor, and Maedhros looked both amused and repulsed.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” Maedhros asked, as Fingon scrubbed the back of his hand over his mouth and looked at his mother with betrayal in his eyes. “I haven’t been back to this town in ages…”

 

* * *

**_Beleriand:_ _Turgon and Finrod’s Apartment_**

Turgon laid his cards down on the table. “My win, I believe.”

Finrod sighed and propped his chin on his hand, eying Turgon’s cards resignedly. “It does look that way, doesn’t it.”

Turgon looked smug. “What’s the damage?”

Curufin, who had folded a round before, surveyed the pot. “Let’s see, seven dollars in mixed bills, a condom – expired, so mind how you go – a pack of gum, and – o _ho_ , a public confession.” He picked up the sticky note scrawled with ‘I.O.U’ on one side and ‘Humiliating secret’ on the other. He raised an eyebrow and mirrored Finrod, propping his chin in his hand. “Now that’s interesting.”

“Oh, please.” Finrod rolled his eyes as he gathered up the cards. “Between the two of you you know all my embarrassing secrets if anyone does, let us not revisit them. Whose idea was it to ante up secrets when we ran out of money, anyway?”

“Yours.”

“Well,” said Finrod, pushing the pot over to Turgon, “I am very sorry, Turno, but as there is nothing for me to publically confess – ”

“Does Curufin know about the karaoke incident?” Turgon blinked angelically, and Finrod froze.

“No,” said Curufin, straightening up and looking avidly between them. “He doesn’t. What karaoke incident? ”

“There is,” said Finrod tightly, “no karaoke incident.”

“So there was this competition,” said Turgon loudly, sticking the pack of gum into his pocket and the condom into his wallet. “And it came down to just Ingo and this one other – ”

“SHUT UP.” Finrod looked uncharacteristically wild-eyed. “You promised – we made a pact – _we do not speak of the karaoke incident._ ”

“Why, did you lose?” Curufin stared at him. “Aren’t you supposed to be good at that sort of thing? I thought you were good at that sort of thing.”

“No. Shut up. Not a story. Listen, I probably have more money in my car if you want it, Turukáno – ”

“And then,” said Turgon, grinning fiendishly, “then, at the end – ”

Finrod sprang at him, sending quarters and cards flying, and wrestled him off the chair to the ground.

“What happened at the end?” demanded Curufin, hanging off his own chair to ogle them.

“Nothing!” Finrod tried to sit on Turgon’s head.

“ – and then,” gasped Turgon, “at the end, he fell flat on his face – in front of his chair – ”

“We are no longer friends,” said Finrod, with as much composure as he could muster while trying to smother Turgon. “Kindly return the friendship bracelet I made at JCC camp in 1997.”

“He tried to compete under a fake name, too,” Turgon told Curufin, from under Finrod. “But he was too drunk to come up with anything better than ‘Dornif’ – ”

On the table, where it had been abandoned, Curufin’s cell phone rattled against the scattered coins.

“Don’t you have to take that?” said Finrod, as Turgon chortled beneath him. “It might be important.”

Curufin, still looking preoccupied and fascinated, reached for his phone. He read the message, reread it, and held up a hand. Turgon and Finrod stopped struggling.

Curufin read it a third time, as if needing the confirmation, then snapped his fingers at them. “It’s happening. Code blue.”

“What!” Finrod and Turgon tried to spring up at the same time, smacked heads, and collapsed to the ground again. They rose more sedately, rubbing their heads and looking excited.

“What does this mean?”

“It means we deploy for Mithrim Lake immediately to prepare things and wait.”

Turgon righted the chair and dashed off to grab his coat while Finrod straightened his shirt and brushed his hair out of his eyes. He stood to grab his own phone from the table, and Curufin’s hand landed on his wrist. “We are about to get distracted for a while,” said Curufin softly. “But believe me,” his eyes glinted, and he couldn’t keep a smirk from stealing across his face. “We are not done talking about the ‘Karaoke Incident’…”

“Oh, _lovely_.”

 

* * *

 

**_Tirion High_ **

Maedhros started their walk at the old high school grounds.

Fingon had been skeptical at first – “Goodness, a public school, how scenic” – but he was soon chortling as he pointed out the markers of various milestones and reminisced at length while Maedhros listened patiently.

As they rounded the back of the gym, Fingon gestured to a bricked-in courtyard. “This is where I first got made Ultimate captain.” His fingers twitched in Maedhros’ hand, like they were remembering the feel of a disc, or like he was counting how long it had been since he’d last thrown one. “I always liked the sound of the title, you know, even if the responsibilities weren’t quite my thing.”

They crossed down past the oval of the outdoor track, and Fingon pointed again. “Aaand this is where I got _demoted_ from being Ultimate captain because we decided that kind of hierarchy wasn’t really in line with the Ultimate philosophy. Also, I kept skipping practice to hang out with some college kid.” He winked at Maedhros, and Maedhros, who still felt slightly guilty about impacting teenage Fingon’s extracurricular life, managed to wink back.

A warm breeze sprang up, ruffling the summer-dry grass and for a moment, Maedhros could almost imagine it was one of those first autumn evenings he had spent with Fingon. Cold, short evenings, leaves scudding over the fields and Fingon – just a friend, back then – talking nonstop at his side as they shared coffees and talked about everything except the flickering electricity that ran between them every time their fingers brushed.

The illusion of having traveled back in time passed quickly. The air was too warm, and the fields too quiet, the crowds of students gone for the summer, and Fingon’s fingers were interlaced with his in a distinctly more-than-friend-like way. Maedhros squeezed them, a fierce emotion closing his throat, and it was Fingon who tugged them on, newly interested in the tour.

A low hill kept a footpath out of sight of the school, and Fingon stopped to survey it with the air of a veteran perusing a remembered battlefield. “This is the scene of my one and only fight.”

Maedhros raised his eyebrows, surprised. “Really?”

“Well,” said Fingon wistfully. “No. It was staged for drama club. I still won, though.”

This didn’t surprise Maedhros at all.

“And this,” said Fingon, as they walked out onto the practice fields, down around the sidelines where the sumac grew, “this is where I used to take my willfully obtuse cousin to try and get him to mack on me.”

Maedhros didn’t need reminding. For a long time his fantasies had been incongruously haunted by the presence of sumac bushes and the distant sound of whistles on the practice fields. For a year, he had gotten partially and confusingly aroused at the sound of people kicking soccer balls. Just another sign of the unwitting deviancy Fingon had inspired in him from day one, he thought, and grinned.

“You were so oblivious back then it was _surreal._ Like, how could you be so immune to my desperation?” Fingon clung to Maedhros’ arm and fluttered his eyelashes up at him. “Oooh, cousin Maedhros, let’s catch a ride to the movies in an overcrowded VW so that I just _have_ to sit on your lap. Oooh, best platonic friend Maedhros, my hands are cold, can I put them down your pants? Oooh, cousin Maedhros – ”

“Listen,” said Maedhros, wondering how Fingon could have been so oblivious as to consider him immune, “if you had put your hands down my pants instead of just stealing my jacket or casually linking arms with me – which, let me tell you, was incredibly effective as it was – I would not be here to have this conversation with you. Because I would have died, here on the outfield.”

“Sensitive little thing, weren’t you,” said Fingon. “Glad you’re less so now. Hmm, let me see if I can get that zipper…”

Maedhros carefully evaded his hands, glancing over his shoulder as he did. “Much as I appreciate the motive and the need for some revisionist reenactment,” he said, “if we get caught having sex at a school we _will_ be arrested and I’ve already done that once this year.”

“Ahhh, you and your priors,” said Fingon, leering like James Dean and winking like Paul Newman. “It’s such a chore, dating a felon.”

Maedhros made a face and pulled him on, past the school and into the town center where he had once spent so much time, reading and perusing the books in his favorite bookshop, pretending he wasn’t waiting for Fingon. He scanned the familiar square, noting the differences. Some of the trees were taller now while other had been pruned back, and there were new plantings along the border by the modest fountain. The bookstore he’d once spent so much time in was still there, though looking rather shabby, and the pizza shop the students used to go to after school had moved and been replaced by an unlikely looking gelateria.

Fingon was looking around too, a nostalgic smile on his face. “This is where you failed to reject me for the first time,” he said. “Remember? You were sitting on that bench there and it was cold out. You were reading a book with no gloves on, like the beautiful idiot you were, probably because you knew I liked the gorgeous frozen nerd look. I’d just gotten into Beleriand and I knew everything would change if we could be at school together, or at least I’d have the chance to try, so I ran over here all the way from my parents’ house and I just lobbed myself at you like a maniac. I think I thought you would drop me, or fall over in horror, but you actually kissed me back, which told me a lot about the importance of taking you by surprise. Our first kiss, Mae, they should put up a plaque. You remember? I think I almost lost a tooth.” He turned, frowning, as he realized Maedhros was no longer beside him. “Mae?” He looked back, and then down, and his eyes widened.

Maedhros had gone down on one knee.

“What,” croaked Fingon. “What – what are you doing?”

“Findekáno,” Maedhros began, but had to clear his throat. He remembered the other necessary component to this moment and fumbled in his pocket for the small box. He’d been walking around with it in his pocket for a week now on high alert, half sure that he’d have to whip it out as defensive measure if Fingon seemed to be about to beat him to the punch. He held it up, looked into Fingon’s eyes, and forgot everything he had been planning to say. There had been a speech, about how lucky he was, and how good Fingon was, and something else that he’d probably stolen from Nora Ephron, and a line that Maglor had insisted on over Maedhros’ objections – but every last word of it flew out of his head as Fingon stared down at him in abject astonishment. He held the box a little higher, opening it with fumbling fingers, hoping this would speak for itself.

“So,” he said, and cleared his throat again. “So.”

“Maitimo,” said Fingon, faintly. “You _wang_.” But there were tears in his eyes, and his hands were trembling.

“That’s not what you’re supposed to say,” said Maedhros, who was kneeling on a pebble that was digging painfully into his knee. He shifted slightly. “Yes or no are the traditional responses, along with – ”

“I can’t believe you’re actually doing this,” said Fingon, his voice thick. “I thought – I thought I would – ”

“Did you really doubt we were headed here? That I wanted to spend my life with you?” Maedhros looked up at him, the sun warming his face, and suddenly he couldn’t stop himself from smiling like a loon. “Or did you just doubt I could actually figure out how much I wanted this?”

Fingon wiped his eyes. “No, I – I had total faith in you.”

“Liar,” said Maedhros fondly, and took Fingon’s left hand in his right.

Fingon’s tears started to flow again. “You haven’t actually asked the question yet,” he pointed out, and then added hastily, “But you can take your time, I know it’s a scary one.”

“You have always been a thousand times a braver and better person than me,” said Maedhros. “But this doesn’t scare me at all.”

He asked the question.

Fingon answered it.

His own hands shaking now, Maedhros slid the ring onto Fingon’s hand and Fingon immediately dropped to the ground next to him, his arms going tightly around Maedhros. Maedhros clutched at him and Fingon buried his face against Maedhros’ neck, whispering things Maedhros couldn’t make out.

Maedhros swallowed twice to make sure he could actually speak, then gently brushed Fingon’s curls aside and said, “What was that?”

Fingon raised his head, and Maedhros’ heartbeat collapsed. Fingon had never been so beautiful as he was right now, glowing with happiness. Fingon, his fiancé, Fingon who had said _yes_.

“We have to raise the kids Jewish,” Fingon said, and he was grinning now, though his face was wet. “I promised Bubbe when I was drunk at Passover.”

“Okay,” said Maedhros, still concussed with his good fortune. “That works out, because I’m pretty sure I promised _my_ mom I’d never raise any kids Catholic.” Then he paused, panic starting to flit across his features. “Kids?”

“Aw, buddy, don’t worry, you don’t have to be brave about this one yet,” said Fingon, and he heaved Maedhros to his feet.

The ring box still clutched in one hand, Maedhros staggered, began to speak, and then froze, a horrible dawning expression crossing his face. “Oh. No.”

“Already?” said Fingon, “Haha, no, sorry, you’re my fiancé now, I won’t make jokes about you being too quick to co – Mae, are you okay? You look terrible. Oh god, were you in a fugue state before and now you’ve just realized what you did? Listen, I don’t care, you can’t retract it, I won’t let you.”

“I threw out my back,” said Maedhros frantically.

“Oh, good one,” said Fingon, and then, as Maedhros sagged dangerously, “Wait, you’re serious? I haven’t even gotten to kiss you as an engaged man yet! You’re broken _already?”_

Maedhros clutched at Fingon’s arms. “Is there a nearby chiropractor?”

“Hum,” said Fingon. “Listen…”

“What?”

“Don’t call me a hypocrite, but I might have to take back my answer.”

_“What?”_

“You were right all those years,” said Fingon forlornly. “You are too old for me.”

Maedhros, torn between exasperation, pain, and a small bit of genuine anxiety, gazed up at him pathetically. “Fin!”

“Just kidding,” said Fingon, and pulled his arm over his shoulders to support him. “In sickness and in health, right? Oh my god, I can quote that kind of thing to you all the time now.”

They set off across the square, Maedhros making noises of mingled pain and jubilation, and before they made it to the sidewalk, Fingon stopped to tug Maedhros around. “Hang on,” he said softly. “I really haven’t gotten to kiss you as an engaged man yet.”

Maedhros looked at him, and for a moment all pain was forgotten in the face of the look in Fingon’s eyes. Then Fingon kissed Maedhros like he had kissed him for the first time on that cold day ten years before, a kiss like Fingon himself, a kiss full of warmth and joy and wild hope.

When they broke apart, it was Maedhros’ turn to weep.

Fingon wiped his tears away gently and kissed him again, this time on the nose. “Right,” he said, shifting his hands through Maedhros’ hair so he could admire the way the ring glinted against it. “How soon after getting your back adjusted do you reckon we can have sex? Will you die?”

“Oh, god,” said Maedhros faintly, as Fingon’s fingers brushed his ears. “I can’t think of a better way to go.”

 

* * *

 

_**Beleriand: 1495 Mithrim Lake Road** _

Aredhel leaned up against a lamppost, lit a cigarette, and grinned at the night sky. The door of the big, rambling house opened, sending a sliver of light onto the walk, then closed again. Footsteps approached.

“You got more of those?”

Aredhel blew out a stream of smoke and watched a moth flutter dizzily in the light of the street lamp. “I thought you quit.”

Celegorm sloped down the sidewalk to her and winked. “Special occasions only.”

“Cigars would probably be more appropriate.” But she passed over the cigarette and couldn’t help breaking into another wide smile. “Fuck. I can’t believe this.”

Celegorm chuckled, leaning up next to her and taking the cigarette from between her fingers. “I can’t believe it only took Nelyo ten years to get his shit together. Maybe my threat of proposing for him really made an impact.”

“You do know how to put the fear of god into a man.”

Celegorm nudged her slightly. “You next?” There was a twinkle in his eye, but his tone was genuinely inquisitive.

Aredhel shrugged, smiled, and let her head fall back against the post, shaking her hair out of her eyes. There was music drifting from the house.

“Elenwë’s teaching Oromë meringue,” said Celegorm, watching the moth that was still trying to throw itself into the light. “I’m considering making her stilts.”

Aredhel laughed and took her cigarette back. They stood in companionable silence a while, the smoke drifting around them in the warm summer evening, waiting for the text from Maedhros that would announce his and Fingon’s imminent arrival and the start of the party. Aredhel leaned happily against Celegorm’s side and he draped an arm around her shoulders.

“Who do you reckon Findekáno will choose for best man?”

“Me,” said Aredhel at once. “Who else? Mae will choose Mags though, you gotta figure.”

Celegorm scowled. “If he wants a bachelor party sponsored by Jeff Mangum, maybe. I can’t believe he’d pass up the opportunity to choose me instead. I’m the only brother he’s got who knows what it’s like to kiss his future husband! That’s the stuff best men are made of.”

“Yeah, I’m shocked too.”

“But whatever, he’s not gonna get out of having Huan as ring bearer.”

“I hope Findekáno doesn’t have any delusions of wearing white,” said Aredhel absently. “He knows it would be a sham.”

“Also, you wanna wear white.”

“Well, come on, I pull it off _so_ much better.”

They fell silent again, Celegorm cursing softly as the cigarette burnt down to his fingers and he dropped it. From the house came the strains of a faster song, and a clatter as something got knocked over. Someone shouted something in which the word ‘karaoke’ could be discerned, and there was a smaller crash, like an object had been thrown across the room.

There was a buzz in Celegorm’s pocket, and Aredhel pulled away so he could pat at his pockets. He pulled out his phone to examine the incoming text, and a smile spread over his face. “They’re on their way. Got the fireworks?”

“Yep. Got the champagne?”

Arms slung around each other, they set off up the walk to the house. The door swung open, briefly revealing the tableau in the foyer. Maglor was standing on top of a ladder hanging a banner while below, Curufin consulted a complex schematic and waved his arms commandingly. Caranthir was lounging on the stairs, a beer in one hand, Huan resting his head on his lap while Elenwë dashed by, barefoot, pursuing a fleeing cat. Finrod perched on the bannister while arranging a bouquet of flowers, dropping spare petals onto Curufin’s hair until Curufin shook his head and scowled at him. Turgon emerged from the living room, carrying the escaped cat, and Finrod dropped a petal onto her head instead.

Celegorm and Aredhel passed through the door and it closed softly behind them, muting the excitement within and casting the front yard once again into gloaming darkness. In the light of the lamppost, the moth still fluttered.

One last glowing ember from Aredhel’s cigarette glowed briefly, then flickered and died.

The lights in the house shone on.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2\. I can’t write this note without choking up, so I’ll keep it short ~~she lied~~.
> 
> This arc has finally reached its end, as it needed to eventually. Part of me was really, really not ready for it – I’d long joked that I am so bad at finishing things that it would just wander on until I faked my death – but part of me knew pretty clearly that now was the time and that holding off/prolonging it was going to result in a lot of frustrated waiting on your end and a lot of subpar writing on mine. This has already extended 75 or so chapters longer than I ever anticipated, and I have no regrets – it’s been more fun than I could have ever imagined. I can’t tell you how much this story, and everyone who’s read it, have meant to me.
> 
> It is also important for me to let you know there will be more in other places! There is one DWMP event in particular I would like very much to document (perhaps you can guess), so keep your eyes peeled. I still want to write back, side, and future stories in this universe, and I’ll still take prompts and welcome ideas for more.
> 
> Thank you so much for everything, for your support, your incredible comments, your encouragement/enablement, and staying with me all this time. DWMP would not have become what it became without you (Did I basically c/p this note from award acceptance speeches? Yes). Please come visit me on [Tumblr](http://imindhowwelayinjune.tumblr.com/), talk to me in the comments, send me ideas for new fics, exhort me for headcanons! I’m not going anywhere, and I still cherish this universe <3
> 
> Let’s get a beer or something – just no Keystone Light, please.
> 
> Love,  
> June (LiveOak)  
> July 14, 2016


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